Goodbye
by Tarado
Summary: AU ending for RotJ. Vader and Palpatine are still alive & and Luke is being held prisoner onCoruscant. Han and Leia try to go on, believing him to be dead and Mara still wants to kill him. Finished at last.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. I do not own these characters. I'm just coming here to play.  
  
I hope you enjoy the story. if you do I'll put up some more. (A little incentive there). Please review and tell me what you think.  
  
*Goodbye--A RotJ AU*  
  
Endor's normal nighttime sounds--chirping insects and the occasional animal call--were nowhere to be heard in the forests surrounding the Ewok villages. Huge bonfires, like tiny lights in the trees, dotted the woods. Up in the sky, brilliant fireworks exploded against a navy backdrop of stars. There was one star, however, that was nowhere to be seen. Whereas its shape had formerly occupied much of the sky, now all that was left of the Death Star was a cloud of miniscule dust particles dispersed freely into space.  
  
Down below, the party was in full swing. Han felt he had to give the little fuzz-balls some credit for the quality of celebration they were putting on. He was busy prying an overenthusiastic Ewok off his leg while keeping his glass of berry wine from spilling when a voice called, "Han!"  
  
He looked up to see Lando walking at a brisk pace to greet him, a wide, white grin on his face. "Calrissian," Han greeted his friend with a clap on the back and downed the last of the putrid drink. "Good to see that you're still alive, buddy."  
  
"Hey," Lando laughed. "I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of killing me. It felt good to give the Empire a bloody nose."  
  
"Is my ship all right?" Han asked earnestly.  
  
Lando adopted a hurt look. "Would you think so little of me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Calrissian patted his friend on the shoulder. "The Falcon's fine, Han."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yeah." He looked a little uncomfortable. "We'll have to get a new sensor dish put on, though."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Hey!" Lando protested. "Take it easy--I'll get it fixed." greet  
  
Han was seething. "You'd better," he growled. There was a roar behind him and Chewie came forward and gave Lando an enthusiastic embrace.  
  
"Good to see you too, Chewbacca." He then saw the princess slip quietly into their circle. Leia!" he cried joyously, giving her a big hug, with or without her permission.  
  
The princess laughed at the giddiness of the moment and hugged him fiercely back. "Glad to see you made it through. I'm sure Han is thrilled that for once his premonition wasn't correct and he'll be able to see his ship again."  
  
Calrissian gave her a mock frown. "Why do I get this feeling that people are more excited to see the ship return than me?"  
  
Their laughter echoed and mingled with the sound of the celebration across the Ewok camp.  
  
Leia glanced at the entrance for the umpteenth time, and then caught herself, not wanting to appear overly antsy. It was still early and many of the fighter pilots were still trickling in, happy and relieved and ready to celebrate. She must be patient.  
  
He would come soon.  
  
Wedge Antilles appeared and they exchanged a round of happy embraces. "Is Luke here yet?" he called over the drumming and singing Ewoks.  
  
Leia shook her head and articulated "Not yet."  
  
The celebration was fully underway when the Fuzzball percussionists started beating out a catchy little rhythm that several members of Rogue squadron began singing to. Han took a sidelong glance at the princess who, despite her outward projection of calm and ease, seemed worried. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, taking her hand. "No sense wasting a perfectly good party brooding. You never know when you may have another good reason to celebrate like this." She suddenly saw the twinkle in his eyes. "May I have this dance?" When she didn't answer right away, he leaned his face closer to hers, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I'm sure Luke's fine," he murmured. "Come on and dance with me."  
  
Leia laughed as he spun her out to the floor. In Han's arms, in the face of optimism and dancing to the beat of the comical music, her heart didn't feel quite so heavy. Luke would turn up soon, she was sure of it.  
  
**************  
  
Sometime later that night, much to Han's disappointment, he and Leia received orders to report to Home One for a debriefing.  
  
Solo had moaned and groaned about how the Alliance bigwigs could never have any fun and couldn't it wait until morning? But despite his grousing, he had ridden with Leia on a battle-scarred Correlian gunboat up to the Mon Calamari ship and straight to the meeting.  
  
Leia sat quietly at the wide, white table in the Mon Calamari ship's main conference room. Seated around it were Mon Mothma, Admiral Ackbar, General Madine, and Han. She felt tired and grubby after trekking and fighting for two days in the woods, and was not in the mood for this meeting. A good ten hours of sleep, a hot meal and a long shower was all she could think about as she stared blankly at the documents sitting in front of her.  
  
Madine tapped a few keys on his datapad and sat back in his chair, stroking his beard. "It has been confirmed that the Death Star has been destroyed," he said officially, arching an eyebrow at Leia. She nodded her verification of that fact, trying not to appear too drained. "It is cautiously to be assumed," he went on, "that both Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader were killed in that explosion."  
  
"It's still too early," Mon Mothma reprimanded him quietly  
  
"But just to make a wary supposition," Madine defended. "Based on the un- likeliness that they would have been able to escape--"  
  
"Did you know Senator Palpatine personally, general?" Mon Mothma cut him off with a severe look. Madine reluctantly shook his head no. "Well I did," she said quietly. "I saw the way he manipulated the senate, and led them blindly into his little traps. I saw his cunning and charisma. I will not have us let down our guard based on the simple assumption that the head of the Empire has been cut off. We cannot relax until we have proof, is that understood?"  
  
"Yes, Ma'am," Madine answered meekly.  
  
Mon Mothma let her stern gaze rest briefly on everyone around the table before turning back to Madine with a kinder expression.  
  
"You may proceed, general."  
  
The man was trying not to look too flustered, Leia saw, as he called up a few more notes on his datapad. "General Solo," he turned on Han. "Is everyone on your strike team and shuttle crew, whether living or dead, accounted for?"  
  
Leia could feel her heart start to pound as she watched Han make a play for time, pretending to check his notes. He cleared his throat. "Everybody is accounted for except." his gaze darted quickly to Leia and back to his notes. "Luke Skywalker."  
  
An air of surprise seemed to ripple across the table, followed by a shocked silence. It was Ackbar who spoke first.  
  
"Is he dead?" He asked.  
  
Han shook his head. "I--we don't know."  
  
"As Skywalker's commanding officer, you don't know where he is?" Madine demanded, his voice filled with patronizing disbelief.  
  
Solo bit back a sarcastic reply, figuring he didn't need any more trouble for one day. "No, sir," he answered, quietly. "I don't."  
  
"When was his approximate time of disappearance?" Mon Mothma asked evenly, her calm demeanor seemingly unfrayed by this new report.  
  
Solo raised his eyebrows at Leia, who decided it would be wise to take it from there. "He left the night before the battle of Endor," she answered, feeling their attention suddenly converge on her.  
  
"Do you mean he deserted?" Madine demanded in disbelief.  
  
"No!" she exclaimed, feeling the anger starting to rise in her throat. Taking a deep breath, and in a quieter voice, she went on. "Luke knew that Vader could track his presence on the moon, and he knew he was endangering the mission and the lives of the team by staying with us. He had to leave."  
  
"Where?" Mon Mothma asked gently. Leia averted her gaze from their questioning stares, feeling tears start to sting her eyes. No, she thought resolutely. They would not see her cry. Besides, there was nothing for her to be worrying so much about. Luke was really all right. He had to be.  
  
"Leia, please tell us where he went--"  
  
"He went to face Darth Vader!" she blurted. "He knew he had to face him, to turn him back, to kill him, whatever it was he had to do--distract him, even, from what we were going to blow up at Endor--I don't know." She sat back in her chair, feeling that her fragile patience seemed to be slipping from her grasp. "That's all any of us know," she whispered.  
  
Madine duly took note on his datapad. His voice was carefully modulated, and he could have been discussing the menu for dinner. "Willful surrender to the enemy violates the codes stated in section five, article four of--"  
  
"Are you saying he betrayed us?" Leia almost shouted.  
  
The general scowled at her. "I'm saying he broke the rules," he stated. "Such actions constitute betrayal to his commanding officers and the Alliance itself."  
  
"Now just a minute," Han objected. "Just because the kid isn't here to defend himself doesn't mean you can conveniently stamp him as a traitor and put him on a shelf. Luke might have made a bigger sacrifice up on the Death Star than anyone else in that battle in order to ensure the good of the galaxy, and all in the name of your precious Rebel Alliance. Now, here you are, not twelve hours later, condemning everything he's done."  
  
"Besides," Leia added in the ensuing silence, "being a Jedi Knight puts him outside of such restrictions. What he did was perfectly authorized."  
  
Mon Mothma nodded in agreement. "Luke Skywalker is a Jedi knight," she reminded Madine.  
  
"Yes, well," the general shuffled his papers, "so was Darth Vader at one time."  
  
He locked gazes with Leia. "Princess, unless Skywalker returns soon, it would be wise to consider one of two options: either he betrayed the Alliance or he was killed in battle. Go ahead and choose whichever one that will ease your conscience." He glanced pleasantly around at all the occupants of the table. "If no one has any further business to discuss, I suggest this meeting be adjourned."  
  
****** 


	2. 

Leia finished drying her long, dark hair with a towel and began combing it out in front of the mirror of the small cabin in the Mon Calamarian cruiser. It had been allotted to her to allow her to freshen up and get some rest, for which she felt unspeakably grateful.  
  
The Alliance ships were due to pull out of Endor's star system in three or four hours at the latest, because, despite their victory, the Empire was still at large and a very real threat. Normally, Leia had a part in overseeing some of the tasks involved with evacuations, but apparently Mon Mothma felt sorry for her after Madine had raked her over the coals, because she arranged for Leia to take much-needed refuge in one of the ship's private cabins and reclaim her sanity. Leia frowned at her reflection—the dark circles under her eyes and the pale appearance of her skin. She really did need some sleep.  
  
Han had shuttled back to Endor less than an hour before to get the Falcon and take care of some last minute things. Leia knew the real motive behind Han's returning to the moon, besides seeing that his ship got repaired, was to try to maintain the hope that Luke was still alive, still coming. Han tried to be strong for her, but Leia could see the dark expression in his eyes, his suspicions that he didn't voice, the knowledge that they would have to face the facts that Luke might not be coming back.  
  
Leia sighed, tiredly. She was so exhausted and drained that she could not even allow the doubts to sink in. Her mind kept arguing that Luke was alive. He had to be alive.  
  
Quickly plaiting her hair into a simple braid, Leia eyed the cabin's narrow bunk. She needed some sleep if she was going to continue to function with any degree of civility. She took one last disgusted look in the mirror and padded softly over to the bed and laid down, eventually drifting off into an uneasy sleep.  
  
*******  
  
Han tried to keep from pacing as he watched repairs being made on the Falcon, but with little success. Another steamy, humid morning on Endor was underway, and the Ewok's primitive village had become a buzzing metropolis full of tired pilots, crew, and repair teams who had set up shop.  
  
"Hey buddy!" a familiar voice called. Han turned to see Lando Calrissian striding toward him through a crowd of milling Ewoks and droids. "You look like you just swallowed a clawed pitten. What's wrong?"  
  
Han gave him a humorless glare. "I'm waiting for my poor ship to be repaired," he growled pointedly. "I hate seeing anyone else working on it."  
  
Calrissian chuckled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Why don't I put you out of your misery. Come over to the transports and help me do something useful."  
  
Han glowered, but started walking. "Since when have you become Mister Responsible?" he muttered, frowning.  
  
"Hey, pal," Lando held up his hands in surrender, "I'm the one trying to be friendly, here. Besides, they need all hands. The higher-ups figure to be out of here before 1600."  
  
Solo focused his glare on the trees ahead of him and muttered, "I know."  
  
Calrissian recognized the reason his friend was so melancholy and he swallowed hard. "Look," he said. "I heard about Luke this morning, that he's gone MIA. Antilles filled me in. I'm sorry."  
  
Han sighed in defeat, scowling at the ground. "We're pulling out less than twenty-four hours after the battle. That hardly helps his chances of being found."  
  
"They're doing everything they can," Calrissian argued. "But you know the longer the Alliance stays here, the more it runs the risk of being under attack. The Empire is far from dead.  
  
"I know he was a good friend," Lando added quietly. "Hey—he was my friend too." He trailed off, his words spent. Han couldn't help but notice that Lando had just discussed Luke in the past tense.  
  
You know it too, he thought to himself. The kid's not coming back.  
  
Stars, how am I going to tell Leia?  
  
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Han nodded, acknowledging and thanking his friend for his sympathy. "We're at war," he reminded Lando tightly. "Casualties happen. Sometimes they're your friends."  
  
"There's still a chance he could be alive," Cloud City's baron administrator added feebly. "After all, if there was anyone I would trust to get out of a tight spot, it would be Luke."  
  
Han nodded mechanically. "Yeah." He took a deep breath and glanced around. "So…where are these transports you were talking about?"  
  
Lando balked at the sudden change of subject. "Umm…over here. Follow me."  
  
They had barely begun to walk when, over the din of the humans, aliens, and droids, a voice called, "General Solo! General Solo!"  
  
Han turned to face a young Rebel officer, fresh off the B-wing, his bright, panicky expression directed at him.  
  
"Yeah?" Han's brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Sir," the young man saluted grimly. Belatedly, Solo returned the gesture. "We found something, sir—in the woods about four kilometers away from here."  
  
Han's blood turned to ice. "What is it?" he asked through stiff lips. He thought he knew already, but he kept shoving that cold knowledge to the back of his mind.  
  
"I think you'd better come with me, sir," the young officer insisted. "We can explain on the way."  
  
Without further questions, Han followed the Rebel at a brisk pace to the sleek black vehicle humming impatiently for them.  
  
The pilot was solemnly quiet and they took off without another word.  
  
"So, do you want to tell me what's going on?" Han called over the rushing wind of the speeder. No one answered for a few moments and Solo could see through the thick foliage that they were coming up on something. In a matter of seconds, it became evident that what they were looking at was the burned out hulk of an Imperial shuttle, its bulk lying cold and lifeless on the fertile, green surface of the Endor moon.  
  
The speeder stopped abruptly about four meters from the wreck.  
  
"Sir," the young officer said very quietly. His voice was sad and flustered all at once. "I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but we received orders that you were to be informed immediately if there were any—"  
  
Han shut his eyes, his last fading hopes being washed out with the brightness of the horrible truth. "Please," he murmured. "Just get on with it."  
  
"Yes sir," the young man answered penitently, managing to look even more flustered.  
  
"I think we've found Luke Skywalker." 


	3. 

Sorry for all the chapter problems—hopefully they're all fixed now.  
  
  
  
  
  
*******  
  
As Han docked the Falcon in Home One's main hangar bay, he noted the despondent quiet that seemed to permeate the whole of the ship. Even Threepio's chattiness was muted, a fact that Solo defined as a minor miracle.  
  
  
  
He knew that Leia was waiting for him in the bay. When he had returned from the crash site, Lando had relayed the earnest message she had sent, questioning whether or not they'd gained any clues to Luke's whereabouts. His heart ached with dread for what he was about to tell her.  
  
  
  
"Finish shutting down," he told Chewie, getting up from the pilot's seat.  
  
  
  
As the ramp lowered, Han was not surprised to find Leia there, waiting. Her face was red and splotchy, probably from crying. She was so beautiful and looked so fragile. The last thing in the worlds he ever wanted to do was hurt her further.  
  
  
  
He stopped at the bottom of the ramp, rooted to his place. Their eyes met, and silently she took in his dejected, haggard expression.  
  
  
  
She knew Luke hadn't come back; knew he was gone. But a part of her needed the absolute certainty of the truth. "Is…he…" She choked, unable to say it.  
  
  
  
"He's dead, Leia," Han answered her. He was startled at how blunt his words sounded: They seemed to strike her like a physical blow. He hated himself for saying it, hated himself for hurting her.  
  
  
  
Slowly, he brought out the cylindrical metal object, charred and damaged, its once glossy metal casing now dulled and blackened with soot, but it was no less recognizable for that. Solo held Luke's lightsaber out at arm's length to her.  
  
  
  
She eyed it like a serpent, but Han could see the awful realization set in, the way her shoulders seemed to slump and her eyes deaden. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, feeling stinging moisture spring unbidden into his eyes. "There was nothing that could have been done." His arm dropped limply to his side.  
  
  
  
Leia's face glistened with silent tears. Han scarcely noticed the tears flowing down his own face as he crossed the three strides to the princess and wrapped his arms around her thin shoulders.  
  
  
  
She collapsed in his embrace, her broken sobs muffled against his shoulder.  
  
"He's gone," she cried, her grief consuming her like scorching, numbing flames until she felt turned inside out; exhausted and beaten and no longer able to feel anything. The Empire and this hateful war had taken everyone she had ever loved or cared about away from her. She'd tried to be strong and go on like she should. She'd learned to wear a cold mask of indifference, and had forced herself to keep her distance from everyone to avoid caring about them, to avoid being hurt when they were ripped away from her. Somehow, though, she had failed in her attempt to stay aloof, even though a part of her heart told her what she already knew was true: she needed her friends—her family—as much as they needed her. Now she had lost her best friend—her brother she'd only just found—and the pain of that loss brought on a fresh wave of grief that was only too familiar. "I can't believe he's gone."  
  
  
  
As they cried, Chewie strode slowly, mournfully, from the ship and up to them, his long, hairy arms encircling them both in a sorrowful embrace.  
  
  
  
The three of them huddled and cried for a long time, grieving the loss of a dear friend.  
  
  
  
******* 


	4. 

*******  
  
  
  
Twilight was glaring through the large transparisteel windows of the ornately decorated suite. The humming presence of the force field shielding the window seemed to enhance the glare of the planet's orange sun, as it was setting behind the tall buildings. The low buzzing noise was the only sound in the room, next to the quiet breathing.  
  
  
  
She sat stiffly, in an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair made of expensive Maeleon hair. Like much of the rest of the furniture in the room, including the bed and the thick, plush carpet; the chair was black.  
  
  
  
There were other, far more comfortable places to sit, but she preferred to stay alert and remain as close to the elegant, oversized bed as possible.  
  
  
  
Her small, compact blaster rested in her lap, its safety still on, but ready to be used at a moment's notice. Not that it was necessary.  
  
  
  
He wouldn't be going anywhere.  
  
  
  
She duly considered this particular humiliation the price to be paid for her failure. She supposed she should be grateful that the punishment wasn't worse, but inside, her pride was still smarting.  
  
  
  
On the bed, her captive shifted with a slight moan and unconsciously she flicked the blaster safety on and off, her hand clenching the grip.  
  
  
  
She felt betrayed, disgraced and just plain annoyed that a few weeks ago she had been sent out to kill this person, and now, because of her failure, she received the lowly assignment of guard duty.  
  
  
  
Sitting there, she carefully scrutinized the prisoner's features; light brown hair, the fair, pale complexion that accompanied most people who spent more time in space than groundside. The small scar on his chin bore the only lasting evidence of his run-in with the Wampa ice creature less than a year before. To her, with his young, innocent features he scarcely even resembled a Jedi. But of course, the ones she had known were old and decrepit, their ancient abilities all but extinct from the galaxy.  
  
  
  
Much of the data they'd collected on him was a couple years old, but according to the holos she'd been required to study, his eyes were blue. She had yet to see them herself because since he'd been brought to Coruscant, four days before, he'd been unconscious. She had seen the angry red energy burns on his arms and wondered idly what he had done to earn such a burst of outrage from Palpatine.  
  
  
  
Still, not that she cared, Mara Jade thought as she tucked an errant strand of reddish-gold hair behind her ear. She had been sent here personally to pay the debt of her failure to murder him at Jabba's palace and to keep an eye on him, for he was due to wake up soon. That was all. This particular Jedi had caused her enough trouble as it was and she wanted nothing more to do with him.  
  
  
  
Her gaze traveled idly out the window again, taking in the magnificent scene of the cityscape. The large suite, hundreds of floors up in the Imperial Palace, had an enviable view of the world, which was probably good, for little else from now on would be going well for the Jedi.  
  
  
  
She turned back to her prisoner to find herself gazing back into a pair of startlingly blue eyes.  
  
  
  
Cursing herself for nearly jumping in surprise, Mara hefted the blaster warningly. "Don't try anything, Skywalker," she muttered. From his disoriented expression, Mara could see that jumping a woman aiming a blaster at him was the last thing on his mind. Confusion showed clearly on his face as his gaze traveled slowly around the room, taking in his new surroundings: the ornate furnishings and large windows.  
  
  
  
"Surprised you're not dead?" she asked irreverently. "So am I, actually. It's almost too bad. The Emperor will just have more in store for you."  
  
  
  
His probing eyes settled on her and he swallowed hard. His voice was a tense whisper. "Where am I?"  
  
  
  
"Wouldn't you just love to know," she goaded with a chilly smile.  
  
  
  
The cobalt gaze seemed to intensify and Mara suddenly had the unsettling sensation that he could see right through her.  
  
  
  
"Who are you?" he asked.  
  
  
  
She drew herself up with as much pseudo-arrogance as she could muster and stated, "You may call me the Emperor's Hand."  
  
  
  
That figured, Luke thought as he slowly—under the watchful eye of the blaster—tried to ease himself into a sitting position without grimacing too much. He ached in more muscles than he knew he had. Closing his eyes as the room performed a slow, deliberate spin around him, Luke asked through gritted teeth, "do you have anything I could call you for short?"  
  
  
  
It was the wrong thing to say, he decided, when the blaster was shoved in his face.  
  
  
  
"Since you're in such good humor," she said coldly, "get on your feet."  
  
  
  
"Now," she ordered when he didn't move. "Emperor Palpatine wants to see you."  
  
  
  
******* 


	5. 

*******  
  
  
  
The blaster nudged Luke in the shoulder, prodding him to walk faster as they stepped out of the elegant rooms into a wide, carpeted hallway.  
  
  
  
The walls of the corridor were lined with ornately carved black sconces, small tongues of orange flame curling out of them, lapping at the dark shadows. Stationed in an orderly manner down the hall, stood the imposing Imperial guards, armed to the teeth with visible weaponry.  
  
  
  
"Just so you know to behave," the red-haired young woman told him pleasantly, noting his observance of the guards and jabbing the blaster in his back again.  
  
There was little question in Luke's mind of where they could possibly be. Although he wasn't much of a seasoned traveler, the cityscape view from the window, combined with the grandeur of what he'd seen so far, made Luke fairly certain he was on Coruscant in the infamous Imperial palace.  
  
  
  
His question was, how had he gotten here?  
  
  
  
Luke searched his last memories, trying to figure out what had happened. His last blurry recollection was of the Emperor leering as blue lightning leapt off his fingertips and Luke's own pain-filled pleas to his Father to help him. He remembered nothing after that. Palpatine had gleefully reassured Luke that he would die, but something had obviously changed the wicked leader 's mind.  
  
  
  
They reached a bank of turbolifts at the end of the hall and Luke and the young woman rode in silence until the lift deposited them on a new floor, almost completely identical to the last. They walked to the end of another corridor and came to two huge doors of ancient orowood carved in intricate patterns and protected by two red-clad guardsmen. Despite their old- fashioned appearance, the doors slid smoothly open upon their arrival.  
  
  
  
Inside was a small, dark anteroom connecting with more doors. Luke took a deep breath as he was nudged forward, knowing what ordeals probably awaited him inside, and secretly dreading it. The second set of doors opened, and Luke, who was expecting a duplication of the throne room on the Death Star, started in mild surprise.  
  
  
  
The room was a grand corridor of columns and bleached stone, the extraordinary architecture of some long-extinct civilization.  
  
  
  
Massive windows—several stories high—covered the far wall, bathing the corridor in  
  
orange and purple twilight of the planet's setting sun and providing the room's only illumination. Unlike the landscape from Luke's rooms, no buildings or vehicles obstructed the throne room's breathtaking view of the huge city or of space beyond.  
  
  
  
Luke could see the dark silhouette of Palpatine's throne, facing away from them and eclipsed by the light from the sunset, and next to the Emperor, as motionless as a statue, a black shadow, stood Darth Vader.  
  
  
  
At the sight of his father, Luke felt his emotions unexpectedly rise to the surface. He was suddenly angry at his father for not being strong enough to turn back to the light side, and then the tide of his fury turned and he was furious at himself for being so foolish as to think he could face Vader and the Emperor alone, for naively assuming he could turn his father back.  
  
*Stop it! * He berated himself firmly. * Anger is of the dark side.* And now, of all times, he had to be calm; at peace like Yoda had taught him. His very salvation depended on it.  
  
\  
  
The blaster prodded him in the back again, and he obediently moved forward, slowly ascended the pale stone steps, his feet like lead.  
  
  
  
There was only the clipped sound of their footsteps, echoing throughout the hall. Palpatine and Vader watched, silently, as they approached.  
  
  
  
They stopped in front of the throne and Luke was aware of the young woman stepping back, placing her blaster back in its holster, and standing at attention.  
  
  
  
Palpatine, his shriveled, rotting features hidden under the dark cowl of his black hood, nodded his approval to her. "You are dismissed."  
  
  
  
She bowed curtly and turned on her heel. Luke listened to the precision tap of her footsteps as she left.  
  
  
  
"Well, my young apprentice," Palpatine brought him back to the present. "It is my privilege to welcome you to your new home, the Imperial palace. How do you like your accommodations so far?"  
  
  
  
It did not even cross Luke's thoughts to answer the question, as his mind raced through the possibilities of why he was being housed like a guest instead of a prisoner. What dark motive was behind this?  
  
  
  
"Would you rather I put you in a prison cell?" the Emperor inquired mildly.  
  
  
  
Fighting down his reflexive anger at having his thoughts read so casually, Luke swallowed a bitter retort, his gaze traveling to his father and back to the Emperor. "Tell me who won the battle of Endor."  
  
  
  
He almost thought he saw Vader flinch at the tone of his voice, but he ignored the possible danger he might be putting himself in by speaking to the Emperor that way. Palpatine didn't even raise an eyebrow. "That, my young Jedi, all depends on what you define as winning the battle."  
  
  
  
Luke frowned, wondering what kind of tricks the old despot was playing with his mind now. "Was the Death Star destroyed?" he asked quietly.  
  
  
  
"I allowed for its destruction, yes," Palpatine corrected. He nodded politely at Luke. "I got what I wanted."  
  
  
  
Luke didn't answer, momentarily basking in the relief that Han and Leia were safe and, unlike him, free…  
  
  
  
"Do not waste energy entertaining notions of being rescued by your friends," the Emperor answered Luke's unspoken thought, his expression twisting into a malicious smile. "As far as any of them are concerned, you are dead. And don't worry," he assured the Jedi. "It was artistically and masterfully done. I sent a carefully reconstructed replica of your lightsaber, along with an unfortunate crewman who had worn out his usefulness, down in a sabotaged shuttle to crash on the sanctuary moon. Your friends have only a worthless hunk of metal and the charred remains of a complete stranger to console them in their grief. They will not be looking for you. And it will also be of no use of you to try to call out to them."  
  
  
  
There was a heavy silence as Luke contemplated Palpatine's words, his expression darting from Vader to Palpatine and back. "By all means, try it if it will make you feel better," the Emperor offered to Luke's unspoken question. "I assure you I am telling the truth."  
  
Despite his misgivings, Luke couldn't resist the proposal. Shutting out Palpatine's gleeful leer, he let his eyes fall half-closed and carefully reached out to the Force, calling his sister's name. *Leia… *  
  
  
  
With a jolt, his eyes snapped open in disbelief. His Force connection with Leia had somehow been cut off. He could not feel her presence. Frantically searching again, he realized that he could not detect ANYTHING beyond the throne room and the palace—the whole bustling city below was completely dark to him.  
  
  
  
He was brought out of his alarmed discovery by a cackling laugh. "You see?" the Emperor chuckled. "Your friends cannot help you. Oh, no, my young apprentice. I'm afraid you are very much on your own here."  
  
  
  
Indeed, Luke felt very much alone. *Ben, * he thought quietly. * I need you.*  
  
  
  
The evil ruler laughed again, reaching slowly into his robes and pulling out an all-too-familiar object, setting it on the arm of the throne.  
  
  
  
It was Luke's lightsaber.  
  
  
  
The Jedi eyed it warily. His glance went to Vader's hand, replaced and working like new; and then his thoughts flashed back to the Death Star.  
  
  
  
When they were fighting, it had become swiftly apparent that Luke was the stronger of the two. In his blind fury, he had become powerful enough that he could have killed the man that was his father, willfully sinking himself into the murky depths he'd tried so hard to avoid. But now, he wondered if perhaps he could use that well of brief strength from the Dark Side to escape. Just dipping a tiny bit into those unrestrained powers would surely have no lasting effects. It would not mean he had turned. Would it?  
  
  
  
Unconsciously, Luke flexed the fingers of his own right hand, which had also been repaired. No, he could not take the risks. He knew that he did not want to turn into what his father had become.  
  
  
  
Luke took a deep breath, his determination fortified. He would not give in to his anger, no matter what.  
  
  
  
His head snapped up when he realized, too late, that both Vader and the Emperor were watching him.  
  
  
  
Palpatine chuckled in amusement at Luke's pitiful resolve. "Today," he announced, "we will be working on proficiency with a lightsaber."  
  
  
  
He nodded pleasantly, noting the object of Luke's repulsed attention. "Your rudimentary skills show you've mastered a basic technique, but you have very much to learn."  
  
  
  
"No," Luke croaked, shaking his head. "No," he said again in a stronger voice. "I will not fight."  
  
  
  
There was a thick silence. No one moved. When Palpatine finally spoke, his voice was deadly calm. "It was not a suggestion," he informed Luke quietly. "One way or the other, you will have to learn to obey my orders. You must be a loyal servant if you are to properly aid the Empire."  
  
  
  
Luke stood rigidly, his hands at his sides, fully aware that he could be digging his own grave with his defiance. "I'll never serve you or the Empire," he declared softly. "And I'll never turn to the dark side."  
  
  
  
A small, dangerous smile crossed Palpatine's face and he cocked his head at Vader. "Young idealism sacrifices itself so nobly." He clucked disappointedly at Luke. "What a senseless waste."  
  
  
  
As if on some unspoken signal to attack, Vader's lightsaber was suddenly ignited and bearing down on his son. Luke saw the weapon coming and in a split instant of decision-making, self-preservation won over. His own lightsaber flew to his outstretched hand, blocking the Dark Lord's blow.  
  
  
  
Vader struck again and Luke parried, his gaze locking with the dark mask. "Why do you want to do this again, father?" He asked softly. "Don't you think being defeated once was enough?"  
  
  
  
Vader's temper surged to the surface and with the strength of his fresh anger he swung to strike a low blow to the knee, but Luke caught it with a sweeping parry. The Dark Lord then initiated a forceful blow over the side of Luke's head, which the Jedi barely deflected. Vader was slowly backing him into the huge windows, but Luke made no effort to go into the offensive. There were a few more clashing blows between them, when Vader suddenly hooked his lightsaber around Luke's, wrenching the sword from the Jedi's grip.  
  
  
  
Luke had a fleeting childish hope as he watched his weapon fly to hit the transpristeel window that the material would shatter into a million tiny shards upon contact with the laser beam. But not to his great surprise, the lightsaber bounced harmlessly against the force field and clattered, deactivated, to the floor.  
  
  
  
Vader held the tip of his crimson blade under Luke's chin as his son gazed boldly back at him.  
  
  
  
"If this were an actual battle, you'd be dead by now," the Dark Lord rumbled. He deactivated his weapon. "Get your lightsaber."  
  
  
  
Luke shook his head. "I do not want to fight you."  
  
  
  
"So, the Jedi refuses to fight," the Emperor chuckled, walking slowly up to them. "I suppose we shall see how long his resolve will last. Lord Vader," he faced the Dark Lord. "See to it that young Skywalker is shown to his quarters. On my orders, he shall be given nothing to eat or drink until he agrees to cooperate with us and do his duty as part of the Empire."  
  
  
  
"Yes, my master," Vader bowed.  
  
  
  
Casually, Palpatine called Luke's prone lightsaber to his hand and hefted the weapon thoughtfully before regarding the Jedi once more. "I do hope you will be intelligent enough not to waste any more energy on this pointless defiance."  
  
  
  
"Take him away."  
  
*******  
  
The very last thing Luke wanted was for Darth Vader to escort him back to his quarters. He had a barrage of questions and criticisms that he wanted to throw at his father, but, though these accusing words were on the tip of his tongue, Luke saw common sense in not voicing any of them. Or maybe he was just tired.  
  
  
  
Vader seemed only too happy to accommodate the silence, as he wordlessly accompanied Luke to his posh quarters. Luke himself was too busy trying to plow unsuccessfully through his own conflicting emotions and they walked in stifled hostility until they reached the suite. Without a word, the Dark Lord keyed open the door and stood like a dark sentinel over Luke as he walked in. The door hissed shut behind the Jedi, and there was the sound of several locking mechanisms being engaged. Then silence.  
  
  
  
Exhaustion settled over Luke like a cloud as he collapsed wearily into the black nerf-leather couch and scowled at the window, his mind still reeling from his sudden new set of circumstances. How could things have gone so wrong? As he had bid Leia goodbye on Endor, he had imagined that he might not see her again, had known full well that his life might end in the ensuing battle. But he'd had a strange peace in knowing, a sort of resigned calm. But now… as much as he tried to recreate that peaceful feeling, it would not come. The ominous unknown of his future unnerved him more than he would ever care to admit. A quick and tidy execution on the Death Star would most likely have been preferable to the various horrific ways Palpatine could now drag out his misery. Dread curdled in the Jedi's stomach as he recalled horrible stories and rumors he'd heard as a youth and also as a pilot in the Alliance—legends of the Emperor's wrath.  
  
  
  
Thoughts of his father unwittingly popped into his mind again and he wondered silently, *Why? * He'd been so sure about Vader, so certain that the Dark Lord would be turned back to the Light side. Obi-wan Kenobi's ghostly words from Dagobah came back to him. *I was wrong. *  
  
  
  
* I was wrong. * The old Jedi had been wrong about training Anakin. Luke had been wrong about turning him back. His anger still burned deep inside him where he'd tried to bury it and lock it away—anger at his father and himself. The sense of being betrayed by Vader again was an ache in his heart, his fury like a raw wound that refused to heal.  
  
  
  
*Control your anger, * Luke thought impatiently to himself, envisioning a disappointed Yoda sadly shaking his head at his student. *Be at Peace. Passive. *  
  
  
  
Perhaps he didn't have to love his father or even forgive him for the things he had done, if he could just bury his emotions so deep that no one—not even the Emperor—could reach them and twist them around for their own purposes. That way, he could not be turned to the Dark Side.  
  
  
  
Luke sank lower into the couch, his mind automatically reaching out to his sister's familiar, comforting presence—and then jolting back to awareness when his call again rebounded against the invisible mental wall. No doubt, this was another amusing game of Palpatine's. His Force connection to Leia had been severed. She might never learn what had truly happened to him. Perhaps just as well, Luke thought glumly. When he did finally meet his fate, it was not likely to be pleasant.  
  
  
  
*For crying out loud, I'm starting to sound like Threepio! *  
  
  
  
With that sobering thought, Luke slowly got to his feet. Perhaps there was something here in these ritzy rooms that could be useful to him—something the Emperor had overlooked. Not likely, he knew, but worth a look, even if only to take his mind off of his dismal situation.  
  
  
  
He started his search at an intriguing antique wood desk and, after briefly examining its strange alien woodwork, went through each of its tiny drawers and niches. Not surprisingly, they were all empty.  
  
  
  
He walked over to the next possibility; an old-fashioned wardrobe, whose design he recognized as being Alderaanian, set against the far wall. He grasped the gilded antique knobs of the decorative doors and peered in, mildly surprised to find it full of clothes. He quickly rifled through several non-descript tunics of black and gray, and hooded robes much like the traditional Jedi attire—except for their color.  
  
  
  
Luke shut the wardrobe, his blue eyes probing the rest of the room for places to search. The refresher across the room could be a good possibility, and he went to check it out.  
  
  
  
The room was decked out in expensive polished stone and was, quite frankly, the most elaborate refresher Luke had ever seen. But his attention was not directed toward the furnishings, but rather, to the marble sink. The Emperor's words came back to him, ordering Vader not to allow him food or water until he cooperated. Well, Luke thought with a triumphant smile, turning on the faucet and watching the cold, clear water pour into the basin. Palpatine had made his mistake.  
  
  
  
He cupped his hand underneath the flow to catch some of the precious liquid and raised it to his lips. But instead of sweet, fresh water, he was met with a horribly bitter, salty flavor, and in one smooth motion, reeled back over the sink, spewing water and gagging at the vile, nasty taste in his mouth.  
  
  
  
Luke grimaced, kneeling at the cabinet, and tiredly rubbed a hand over his eyes. *So much for that idea. * He should have known better than to think that the Emperor would settle for anything less than total control over him.  
  
  
  
Growing up on a desert world, Luke knew well the importance of water. His mind swiftly calculated that, using Jedi trances and other techniques to save his energy, he could last maybe four days without having anything to drink. But that was pushing it. With or without Luke's consent, the Emperor was going to be able to goad the Jedi into doing what he wanted him to do.  
  
  
  
With a defeated sigh, Luke got to his feet and returned to the darkened room. The glitter of Coruscant's lights cast a serene illumination on the room, and fleetingly, he wished for the peace that he could glimpse just outside his window.  
  
  
  
Slowly, he pulled off his boots and lay down on the oversized bed, feeling its gentle, kind comfort shrouded in the dark intentions of his enemy. All of this artificial compassion only served Palpatine's cruel purposes. Still, they'd drilled into him in the Alliance to eat when it was offered to you, sleep when you could, because you never knew when the opportunity would arise again.  
  
  
  
At least he might try to get some rest.  
  
***** 


	6. 

*****  
  
  
  
Glaring lights snapped in front of Luke's eyes, and he jolted groggily awake, his arm automatically flying up to shield the bright illumination from his sensitive vision. He buried his face in the cool pillows. *Aunt Beru, please just let me sleep… *  
  
  
  
He hated the daily ritual of waking at dawn in the chilly Tatooine mornings. Of course the nippy air would soon give way to searing desert heat, the climate spitefully assuring that no one could be comfortable on this planet.  
  
  
  
Perhaps if he told his aunt he was sick, she might let him sleep a little longer. His whole body felt weighted with a strange dull ache in all his limbs, and he did not feel rested.  
  
  
  
"Get up," commanded a deep, impatient voice. A thick hand grasped his arm in an iron fist, and Luke's eyes snapped open, seeing the dark, ominous mask fill his vision; the harsh gasps of the rhythmic breathing echoing in his ears. The vivid dreams and images of his simple childhood home evaporated like water under the harsh Tatooine suns at noon as he stared back into the blank, polished gaze of Darth Vader. With a stomach like lead, he remembered where he was, what had happened.  
  
  
  
Impatiently, the Dark Lord's grip tightened on Luke's arm and the Jedi winced. "The Emperor wishes to see you right away. Do not make him wait."  
  
  
  
Luke nodded, grimacing, as the grip on his arm slackened and he slid his feet silently over the side of the big bed. He had no way of telling what time it was, but his quick glance out the large window showed that it was still very dark outside. He wasn't sure how many hours it might be until dawn, but had the feeling that this was going to be a very long day.  
  
  
  
Vader stepped back, momentarily regarding his son as Luke paused to slip his boots back on. The Jedi straightened, leveling his steady gaze at the black mask. He almost thought he saw the Dark Lord flinch, before turning to the door, gesturing sharply for Luke to follow. "It would be wise to hurry," he rumbled. "For your sake."  
  
  
  
Luke aimed a tired glare at the back of the dark helmet and trailed after Vader.  
  
  
  
He was escorted through a new route of carpeted hallways, the silent, columned presence of his father at his side. Luke pushed aside his want for the sleep that had been so rudely denied him and instead focused on where they were going—the winding, twisting turns of the corridors. Being raised on a desert planet had given him a superb sense of direction, and he memorized their route through the palace. He hoped it would come in useful in the future.  
  
  
  
They rounded a corner and Luke saw, heart freezing in his chest, the sweeping black robes and fearsome aura of evil; Emperor Palpatine striding swiftly toward him across the crimson floor, flanked by two Imperial guards.  
  
  
  
"Ah, my young apprentice," he hailed Luke, clasping white, papery hands together and smiling thinly. "Welcome. Lord Vader," he addressed the Dark Lord. "I shall not be needing your services. You are dismissed."  
  
  
  
Vader seemed to hesitate a fraction of a moment before, with a small bow, he turned on his heel, his cape billowing out behind him.  
  
  
  
"And how is our young Jedi faring today?" The Emperor asked, stepping closer to Luke and drawing the young man's attention away from the Dark Lord's departing figure.  
  
  
  
Luke locked his unwavering gaze with the putrid yellow eyes and kept silent. Palpatine's grating chuckle seemed to rise from deep in his throat and he turned back to his guards. Without a spoken word, they took their positions on both sides of Luke and they followed the Emperor.  
  
  
  
He was led to a large room with durasteel walls and ceilings that reflected the glare of the harsh lighting. At the far end of the room stood a formidable-looking line of deactivated sentinel droids. Luke was tossed inside and the door slid shut behind him. His wary stare shifted from Palpatine's wicked smile to the line of dead droids, his danger sense tingling.  
  
  
  
"Yes," the Emperor noted Luke's reaction, his hand outstretched to the Jedi, offering the young man his lightsaber. "Your training begins."  
  
  
  
The evil ruler gestured casually to the droids, and with a hum of electronics in the deathly silence of the room, one of the sentinels seemed to shake as if waking up from a deep sleep. Lights blinked confusedly, and then several weapons snapped up into a ready position. The droid began to roll forward towards the Jedi.  
  
  
  
Luke's blue eyes darted back to his lightsaber, resting in the Emperor's offering hand. "Take it," Palpatine murmured. "The droid is programmed to shoot at you regardless of whether you're fighting back."  
  
  
  
Luke bit the inside of his lip as he watched the sentinel's dogged approach. Hadn't he vowed a few short hours ago that he would not fight?  
  
  
  
* You are defending yourself,* a small voice objected in the back of his mind. It's all right. He snorted briefly in self-contempt. Some Jedi he was—he seemed to have absolutely no conviction or resolve in his decisions.  
  
  
  
* It's all right,* the voice in his mind insisted again.  
  
  
  
* Take it. *  
  
  
  
Slowly, reluctantly, Luke called the lifeless saber to his hand, and stood guardedly as he watched the droid's advance.  
  
  
  
With little warning and the cold, precise skill of a machine, the sentinel's heavy blaster came up, snapping off two shots at Luke, which the Jedi easily deflected.  
  
  
  
The laser beams came with rhythmic quickness and Luke had little trouble repelling the shots back along their course to bury steaming holes in the durasteel wall. But when he heard the whirring gyros of another robot coming to life, he began to worry. A couple droids he was fairly certain he could take. But the line of ten or so on the other side of the room all alive and shooting at him would most likely overwhelm his defenses. He had to act now while he had the chance.  
  
Locking the saber on, Luke deflected one more shot and then cocked his arm back, throwing the weapon in a Force-controlled spin aiming to cut down the droid. He waited for sputtering machinery, watched for the robot to sag, broken and dead, to the floor. But he was not expecting the saber blade to fizzle and disappear upon contact with the droid, like a candle flame doused in water.  
  
  
  
The machine, oblivious to its near destruction, fired again. Luke barely managed to reel away from the shot as Palpatine's taunting laughter echoed throughout the room. Luke's hand shot out, calling his lightsaber to him again, just in time to deflect the simultaneous fire from both droids.  
  
  
  
"That, my young friend, is called cortosis ore," the Emperor explained conversationally, still chuckling. "A simple but effective way to control lightsabers. You are not allowed to destroy the sentinels."  
  
Luke was too preoccupied to bother to answer. Repelling the shots from the two blasters, he carefully divided his attention between the fight and his search for a weakness in his 'enemy'. If they couldn't be destroyed, at least he might be able to render their weapons unusable. This time, the saber throw was quicker, more agile, as it sliced through the blaster of the first sentinel. Luke was peripherally aware of two more of the droids in the corner coming to life and rolling mechanically forward, weapons ready. The broken blaster clattered, in pieces, to the floor, and the lightsaber was sailing through the air to destroy the next weapon, whose laser bolts Luke was barely dodging, when, with a sudden bright flash before his eyes, a bolt of agony ripped through his shoulder.  
  
  
  
Luke reeled in shock and pain, the glaring durasteel floor rushing up to him, his broken concentration causing the lightsaber to fall prone to the floor next to its intended target, which was still blazing bullets.  
  
  
  
The lasers ripped gouges out of the metal floor next to Luke, spraying him with splintered shards of flooring, but barely missing the wounded Jedi as he tried, painfully, to regain his feet.  
  
  
  
"Get up," Palpatine's gravelly voice ordered over the noise and smoke of the fire all around him. "Your enemy does not wait for you to rearm yourself."  
  
  
  
Luke staggered upright amid the searing blaster bolts all around him, shakily calling his weapon to his hand, and planting his feet in a classic fighting stance. There were four droids, and now he was struggling against the constant fire, trying not to let the burning pain in his shoulder sever his concentration and connection with the Force. How long was he supposed to keep this up? Was it Palpatine's purpose to have him riddled with holes simply to show him his weakness?  
  
  
  
The Emperor's laugh echoed throughout the chamber and Luke set his teeth in concentration, once again searching out a way to get rid of the droids.  
  
  
  
Then he found it: His mind reached out to each sentinel, deactivating them one by one with the Force. Each one slumped, flashing lights flickering dead, and the silence rang in Luke's ears.  
  
  
  
He turned to face Palpatine, his lightsaber still grasped loosely in his hand, beads of perspiration running down the side of his face, his shoulder feeling like it was on fire. "What do you want from me?"  
  
  
  
The Emperor's expression was grave, and he ignored the question. "Hopefully in the battles to come, you will exhibit more skills as a fighter and a proper student of the Dark Side. I am disappointed in you, young Skywalker."  
  
  
  
Behind Luke, the droids whirred to life again. He slowly turned to face them, heart sinking.  
  
  
  
"This is your first lesson," Palpatine's gravelly voice said behind him. "I will show you how it is done."  
  
  
  
******** 


	7. 

********  
  
  
  
His hard gaze was level with her narrowed green eyes, the jewel color of those eyes offsetting brilliant red-gold tresses tumbling down her shoulders. There was a thin sheen of perspiration on her brow, furrowed in concentration, and Luke could feel the beads of sweat running down his own face, plastering his hair, stringy and damp, to his forehead. Their sabers were locked together in a hissing standstill, and, except for the visible trembling in Luke's taut muscles, neither of them moved.  
  
  
  
The high, bright sunlight coming through the throne room's windows contradicted the darkened anxiety in Luke's heart as he held the gaze of this fiery young woman. He did not want to fight her. Indeed, his saber seemed glued in his hand with a force against his own will, and he shied away from this weapon of his own creation as the very thing that would bring about his downfall.  
  
  
  
To the Dark Side.  
  
  
  
Once, the lightsaber had represented to him everything good he that fought for, but now, he longed to drop the glowing blade to the ground and watch, mesmerized, as the laser beam melted into the stone flooring, sinking into the depths of the palace—away from Luke and the dangerous power he wielded; the power that the Emperor was trying to twist and mold into darkness.  
  
  
  
It had been three days. Three days of exhausting exercises and relentless battling. Three days without sleep, or food, or water. The grazing blaster burn on his shoulder, still aching furiously, had not been treated, and he had not yet been able to pause long enough to attempt any of the limited healing techniques Yoda had taught him. He was shaky with exertion and fatigue, and his head pounded, constantly now, with every thunderous beat of his heart. His dry mouth felt like cotton, and the world seemed dimmer around him—fuzzy at the edges. Palpatine obviously enjoyed pushing his new pupil to his limits, and Luke was definitely feeling the strain. He was waiting now for either the dreaded feeling of a burning blade cutting through his flesh signifying he'd lost his concentration and fallen prey to his designated opponent, or for the cool, sinking depths of unconsciousness to claim him, signifying the simple fact that his body and mind had just given out, no longer able to take the strain and exhaustion. Fleetingly, he hoped for the latter.  
  
  
  
With a chilling glare, the young woman stepped back away from him, deactivating her lightsaber and attaching it to her belt. She turned her head toward Palpatine's throne as if taking in some unspoken command while Luke deactivated his own saber, the weapon seemingly molded into his grip, its contours filling his hand with the familiarity of its weight.  
  
  
  
"And how are you enduring these battles so far, my young apprentice?" Palpatine asked, his voice traced with amusement. Standing stoically next to his throne, Vader was a motionless statue, the black, glossy eyes boring into Luke's face.  
  
  
  
Luke still felt the determination flowing through him, feeding him a sort of renewed energy. "Well," he answered quietly, "physically, I might be about to collapse onto the floor here, but mentally I am no closer to turning to the Dark Side than I was three days ago."  
  
  
  
The Emperor didn't even bat an eye. "Then perhaps your next lesson should be on endurance." He chuckled. "Of course, you are wrong when you say that you are no closer to turning to the Dark Side." He got to his feet and slowly started toward Luke.  
  
  
  
"By the time you have completely turned, you will not even know it has happened. Right and Wrong will no longer have any meaning to you—your whole world will be completely twisted, mutilated, and reshaped to fit a more useful, more dangerous mold." He stopped, his face mere inches away from Luke's, his features wrinkling into a horrible smile. "The only thing you will care about is serving your Master."  
  
  
  
Palpatine reached out one white, papery hand from the yards of black robe surrounding him and clawed fingers grasped Luke's chin before the Jedi could turn away in disgust. The ruler emanated evil and death. It leached from him, into his very surroundings, and in such close proximity to Luke, the young man felt nausea turn his stomach, briefly envisioned himself collapsing into dry heaves onto the biting stone, repulsive black robes swirling dizzy patterns in front of his eyes.  
  
  
  
"And, my young apprentice," the Emperor added quietly, tilting Luke's chin so the Jedi would look at him, "You will serve me well."  
  
  
  
The chamber was deathly quiet and it seemed to breathe the tension into the air. That silence was suddenly broken with the dull *clunking* sound of metal striking stone as Luke's hand dropped the lightsaber like a white-hot coal, the weapon bouncing down several steps before coming to an abrupt halt somewhere below him.  
  
  
  
It was dangerously quiet.  
  
  
  
What happened next was sudden, but then, he should have been expecting it, Luke thought hazily as he was hurdled with the force of the Darkside lightning against unforgiving stone floor. The air was completely knocked out of him, the raw pain arcing through his exhausted body. Dimly he heard his own choked cries of pain as wave after wave of dark energy washed over him.  
  
  
  
Then the air was thick with silence once more.  
  
  
  
It took several moments of just trying to breathe, unconsciousness threatening to roll over him, for Luke to gather enough strength to open his eyes. Two black silhouettes of Darth Vader stood over him, steady, ominous breathing sounding in Luke's ears as if they came through a long tunnel.  
  
  
  
Gradually, as Luke blinked away the pain, pushing up laboriously on to one elbow, the two images coalesced into one. Vader stood over him, lightsaber in hand.  
  
  
  
"Stand up, Luke."  
  
  
  
The Jedi turned his head away, wanting to curl up into a ball and make all of this disappear. "I can't," he said hoarsely. "I won't. I will not fight anymore."  
  
  
  
The Dark Lord straightened, the snap-hiss of his lightsaber puncturing the silence. "It would be well for you to remember," he said calmly, "to behave and do as you are told—for your sake, and for the sake of your sister when she is brought to us."  
  
  
  
A white-hot rage boiled up in Luke, blotting out the pain, filling him with anger-fueled adrenaline. They would never get their hands on Leia—never. Suddenly, it seemed perfectly reasonable and fitting to leap up, and strike the Dark Lord down, to strike them all down. They deserved to die if they even thought about going near his beautiful sister.  
  
  
  
"Don't you dare bring Leia into this!" he cried furiously. Without having a recollection of getting up, he was suddenly on his feet, lightsaber in hand, and bearing down on the Dark Lord with all the anger and fury he could muster.  
  
  
  
The battle raged on for only a few minutes, Vader clearly having the upper hand. Luke was too weakened by the last three days to be very much of a threat. Finally, the Dark Lord brought his son to his knees, lightsaber held threateningly at the Jedi's throat. Luke was gasping, black spots swirling in front of his vision. Adrenaline receded from his system and so did his anger, his strength gone. Blurrily, he felt himself falling, pitching forward onto the cold floor, the cool of the flagstones providing some small relief from his burns. From the long tunnel of his consciousness he could hear the sound of the Emperor's mocking laughter.  
  
  
  
Luke had failed. He had given in to his anger. It was Palpatine who won, who had been right. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting nothing more than to sink into the cool black depths of nothingness, away from everything.  
  
  
  
Someone took hold of his arms and began dragging him across the rough ground. He was carried brusquely back to his quarters and dumped none too gently on the floor, the door hissing shut somewhere behind him.  
  
  
  
Taking a deep breath, Luke forced himself to get up, to stagger to the refresher where he was sure he was going to be sick. The Emperor's words kept repeating in his brain…  
  
  
  
*By the time you have completely turned, you won't even know it has happened.*  
  
  
  
Was it true? Despite his best efforts, was he turning to the Dark Side?  
  
  
  
As he rose up, in prepatory to getting his feet under him, what he saw on the small decorative dining table almost made him fall down again in surprise: There sat a collection of dishes and polished pots holding a meal big enough to feed three people, steaming and hot, and Luke wondered how he had not noticed the smell of food wafting into the air. He had not eaten anything in days, and rightfully, he should have been ravenous, but a sick feeling twisted in his stomach as he saw how Palpatine was manipulating him. He did not want to eat the food, did not want to swallow its symbolism.  
  
  
  
The water was another matter entirely though, and he tottered over to the table, filling the crystal glass from the large pitcher, and drank it all down. Water had never tasted so good to him in all his life.  
  
  
  
It gave him enough strength to stagger weakly to his bed, falling fast into a much-needed sleep before his head even touched the pillows.  
  
  
  
******** 


	8. 

*******  
  
Despite the efficient accommodations of the Rebel ship, Han had insisted on sleeping on the FALCON in its temporary home in the cavernous main hangar bay of the Mon Cal cruiser. Leia and Luke used to constantly joke that Solo felt safer in that rusty bucket of bolts than he would secured in the galaxy's tallest tower, made of the strongest materials, bristling with weaponry and surrounded by legions of elite fighters.  
  
"Of course I would," Han had retorted indignantly. "The FALCON flies."  
  
Leia was now unspeakably grateful for the safety and seclusion that the ship and its captain offered as she lay slumped over the game table in the corner of the Falcon's lounge, the holographic creatures washed out by a distraught princess' dark head pillowed in her arms. Her thin shoulders shook with quiet sobs.  
  
Solo entered the lounge, bearing a glass of water and a troubled expression. "Here you go, sweetheart," he said quietly, setting the glass on top of a multi-appendaged blue creature.  
  
Leia raised her head, swiping at the tears on her splotched cheeks with the back of her hand, and reached for the drink. "Thank you." She took a small sip of the bland water as Han slid into the seat next to her.  
  
"Are you going to be okay?" he asked quietly, his hand reaching up to softly rub her back.  
  
Leia nodded quickly, wiping again at uncooperative eyes. She attempted a weak smile and brushed disdainfully at her falling hair and streaked face. "I must be quite a sight." The sleeves of her white senatorial gown were damp with tears. She dabbed at them uselessly. "The Rebel princess," she said quietly, "senator, freedom fighter, the I-never-get-upset figurehead, the I'm-always-strong image..." hot tears sprang to her eyes again. "Oh, stars, how am I going to be able to face everyone?" She broke down into a new round of tears and Han slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Leia melted into his embrace.  
  
Solo knew just how hard she had avoided everyone these past few days--not an easy accomplishment in a ship like HOME ONE. He had worried about her when she never emerged from her small cabin, not to eat, not even to do her duty to the Alliance and attend her meetings. She was taking Luke's death extremely hard.  
  
Behind Han, there was a low growl, and Solo twisted his head to see Chewbacca standing unobtrusively in the entrance, Lando just behind him. It was time to go.  
  
"Okay, Chewie," Han responded, waving them away with his free hand. "We'll be there in a few minutes." The wookiee grunted and he and Lando left the ship.  
  
Leia's small hand balled into a fist and it slid down to rest over her heart, her face still buried in his shoulder. "It's like I have never cried over anything before--Alderaan, the Death Star, Bespin. I never had time--but now I'm falling apart at the seams!"  
  
"It's okay," Han soothed, stroking her long, soft hair. "Everyone has their days."  
  
"I never even knew he was my brother until later," she went on in a muffled voice. "But now that he's gone, it's like something has been torn out of me, right here. I feel so hollow and empty."  
  
Han didn't know what to say to that. Luke and Leia's strong connection through the Force was probably something he'd never understand, much less be able to sympathize with. He drew her closer to him, sobs racking her thin frame.  
  
Eventually, she raised her head, swollen eyes searching his features, hands frantically wiping away the flood of tears. Solo took her face in his hands and leaned forward, gently kissing her forehead. "It's the only part that's dry," he quipped softly, giving her a lopsided smile as he wiped her tears away with his thumbs.  
  
Leia's hands came up to his, pleading eyes still boring into him. "Do you still love me, Han?"  
  
The question caught him by surprise. "Why in the worlds wouldn't I?" he asked.  
  
Her dark eyes were still searching. "Even when the galaxy's most feared, most hated villain turns out to be..." she swallowed, suddenly unable to meet his gaze... "my father?"  
  
"He's dead, Leia--"  
  
"I know he's dead!" she snapped, the doused flame of her anger suddenly lighting her eyes. "But being dead doesn't make it any less true...or less horrible."  
  
Solo took her hands in his, gazing at their twined fingers. "Leia," he said softly. "All the terrible things Vader did to you, and to me, and to Luke has nothing to do with who you are and how much I care for you, regardless of biology." He looked meaningfully into her eyes. "You're still the same beautiful princess that I love."  
  
"But I'm scared," she whispered. "Scared that one day that could be me, what I turn into. Everything I've fought so hard for and believe in...." she searched for the right words. "Just like Luke and his `Dark Side'. I don't want to be at risk of turning against everything I hold dear."  
  
"It can't happen against your own will."  
  
"Can't it?" she asked.  
  
Han didn't answer.  
  
"How can I face people as the daughter of Darth Vader?" she asked into the silence.  
  
Han shrugged, bringing their clasped hands up between them. "Who says people have to find out?" he asked. "What they don't know won't hurt them."  
  
Her gaze went unfocused and she nodded, swallowing. "Yeah," she whispered.  
  
Han pulled her into another gentle embrace and kissed her softly. "Are you ready to go?" he asked finally. "You don't want to be late for the funeral."  
  
Leia made another feeble attempt at looking presentable, but then just smiled wanly. "Yes," she murmured. "Probably as ready as I'll ever be."  
  
*******  
  
The Grand Audience chamber was nearly filled to capacity with Rebels, all attending this small but sincere funeral service to the fallen fighters of the Alliance in their most recent and costliest battle. The atmosphere of the hall was subdued and sad. For all the necessities of this war, the glory of its heroes and the triumph of winning, there was tragedy too. Leia blinked back a new onslaught of tears that threatened to fall as they entered the large assembly room.  
  
She quickly regained control over her emotions, as she saw General Rieekan approaching them, smiling kindly. "Solo," he greeted Han with a nod and a handshake. "Princess." He rested sympathetic eyes on her and said, "please accept my condolences over the loss of Commander Skywalker. He was a born fighter and a gifted pilot..." he paused. "And I know he was a good friend."  
  
Leia nodded, swallowing. "Thank you, General."  
  
She sighed, tears rising to the surface again. The fact that Luke had been her brother and the Dark Lord her father would never be known. The secret would be buried with them.  
  
Mon Mothma intercepted Han and Leia as they made their way across the auditorium. "How are you doing?" she asked the princess, giving her a brief hug.  
  
Leia tried to keep her voice under control as she answered, "I'm fine, thank you." She knew her bluff was obvious.  
  
"I was sorry to hear about Luke," Mon Mothma said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her expression one of genuine sympathy. "He was a wonderful young man and will be sorely missed."  
  
Leia didn't trust herself to speak. The Alliance leader patted her hand. "And I do want to apologize for General Madine and his behavior in the debriefing."  
  
Leia nodded, not really wanting to talk about it. Beside her, Han bristled.  
  
"It's difficult for him to accept the Jedi and the daunting power they wield. I think it frightens him. He's always considering--as all of us must--how that power can distorted into something horrible and evil."  
  
She didn't say it, Leia thought. But she didn't have to. *Like Palpatine and Vader. She's comparing Luke to them--even after all he's done, they can't leave it alone. *  
  
"I think Madine forgets," Mon Mothma went on, "that that power can be used just as well for good too." She smiled reassuringly and Leia swallowed a lump in her throat. "My dear, I know Luke was one of those noble people, and there's no one I would have trusted more with that power than him."  
  
Leia tried to nod again, and thank the other woman, but the words wouldn't come out. Han steered her like a lost child through a crowd of milling people and aliens, nodding at several of them as they offered meaningful condolences, their faces all blending together until she felt powerless to correctly identify any of them. She finally glimpsed Lando and Chewie, seated down close to the front, beckoning to them. Save for Han's guiding hand at her elbow, she felt numb as they carefully made their way down to the waiting seats.  
  
"Are you okay?" Han asked, leaning over her, warm brown eyes dark with concern.  
  
Stars, how she loved him. Leia tightened her grip on his hand; strong, calloused fingers twined with hers. "I'll be fine," she whispered.  
  
They sat down in the rigid, uncomfortable seats while several of the Rogues approached them with their inelegant, but heartfelt offerings of sympathy.  
  
Afterward, Leia would not recall a single word of the funeral service, but only that it seemed wholly inadequate to be a closing for Luke. Unfinished.  
  
* My brother. Lost and found.*  
  
*And lost again.*  
  
The choking tears seemed to lodge in her throat. This was the way of war, the ordered price for freedom. She had to move on with her life, continue the fight where others had left off. There was no time to grieve, to mourn--they just had to move on.  
  
*Goodbye, Luke. *  
  
*Goodbye. *  
  
****** 


	9. 

******  
  
He was left alone in his rooms for several days, the occasional servant making an appearance to bring him food and water. Luke did not talk to them, and they did not talk to him.  
  
The suite, despite its glamour and comfort, was completely devoid of things to occupy one's attention. But Luke was far from bored.  
  
In the long hours with nothing to do, his mind kept coming back to the enticing idea that there might be a way to escape from this place. At first, he dismissed it as unwise and next to impossible, but the notion kept coming back, tagging at the heels of his deep craving for freedom. He spent the hours warily recalling Yoda's sketchy lessons on Force-shielding, cautiously going through his mind how it could be done. He did not want to practice doing any of it, lest he call unwanted attention to himself, so he hoped reviewing would be enough.  
  
In the end, his plan was vague. He did not have a precise idea how he was going to escape the palace, only a mental map of several of the palace floors etched in his memory. But, he had his wits, anticipated acquiring a blaster before he made it very far, and was filled with a consuming desire to escape. Blindly, he hoped it would be enough, and almost didn't care if it wasn't.  
  
The night for his escape presented itself nearly four days after his lightsaber ordeal. It had taken him that long to mostly recover from the injuries he'd received.  
  
It was fairly late in the evening, and a servant had just left. If they followed their standard routine, no one would come to his rooms until morning. He'd be long gone by then.  
  
The wide corridor outside was another issue, though, as Luke stretched out with the Force. Imperial guards lined both sides of the hallway at regular intervals, and they were all armed to the teeth with various weapons. At this moment, two of them were outside his door, speaking in low voices.  
  
Straining his ears for the unalarmed conversing of the guards, he knelt beside the door and carefully began to take off the coverplate, using a small writing tool he'd painstakingly filed and sharpened during the long hours spent alone.  
  
Luke smiled grimly. Han's long, and often frustrating lessons on how to hotwire locks would not be a complete waste of time after all.  
  
As noiselessly as possible, he got to work.  
  
*******  
  
"My Lord, the eradication of the Rebels may take some time," Admiral Otley said quietly, spreading his hands across the dark polished table of the large conference room. Huge windows against one wall showed Vader that it was quite dark outside, and he was beginning to feel tired and irritable after a seemingly endless day. He wished this meeting would end. "They did strike a rather crushing blow to our fleet, and the loss of the Death Star--"  
  
"How soon can we mass our fleet to launch an attack," Vader interrupted impatiently.  
  
The man stood his ground against the Dark Lord and did not show the fear that was radiating from him, much to the astonishment of the others seated around the table, Vader was sure. How Otley had ever made it this far up in Imperial ranks was beyond the capabilities of even the Dark Lord to comprehend.  
  
"Well," the Admiral began, hastily checking his notes. Vader did not hear any more of the report as suddenly, in the back of his mind, the steady, constant, light-suffused presence of his son winked out, leaving a gaping whole in the Dark Lord's mind.  
  
Oblivious to the others in the room, their cautious questioning and confused glances that they traded, Vader lurched to his feet, his large repulsor chair bobbing away from him.  
  
"Lord Vader?" Otley queried in bewilderment. The Dark Lord ignored him. He spun in a billow of black cloak out of the conference room, and made a beeline toward Luke's prison suite.  
  
******  
  
The change of guards was right on schedule, and Luke was ready. He waited for the Imperials to get a little further down the hall, and then initiated his Force-shield a moment before he connected the wires that would make the door open.  
  
With a quiet hiss, his escape route was free and clear. He carefully glanced around, sending out the Force to subtly distract anyone who happened to look his way and melded into the deep shadows, the door snapping shut behind him.  
  
He could spot several security cameras throughout the hall, and grimaced inwardly. There was nothing he could do about them at this moment except to hope whoever was watching them wasn't being too observant.  
  
His senses extended to the fullest, he moved stealthily down the empty corridor.  
  
Moments later, his ears registered voices coming toward him, and he quickly ducked into a dark corner, using the Force to hide his presence. He couldn't have hoped for a better opportunity: A single red-clad guard strutted past him through the vacant hallway. Luke's hand flashed out, reaching for the guard's blaster that was suddenly sailing from its holster through the air. Its satisfying weight landed in the Jedi's hand, and the suddenly alerted guard was bearing down on him with an enraged cry, force-pike swinging. The man dropped with a thud and a deflated swish of his red cape as the red blaster shot hit.  
  
Luke quickly glanced up and down the corridor to ensure that the commotion had not attracted any attention. He then seized the unconscious Imperial under the arms and dragged him into the corner, quickly collecting the man's other weapons--the force-pike and a vibroblade.  
  
Luke then started briskly down the hall. His plan would only work if he went quickly.  
  
********  
  
Mara Jade felt the Emperor's urgent summons from her balcony in the Imperial Palace moments after she felt Skywalker's aggravating presence disappear from her mind. Skywalker was shielding himself, and Palpatine suspected the Jedi to have escaped his rooms.  
  
* Find him quickly and bring him to me,* was the mental command. She acknowledged, and, slapping her blaster into its holster, quickly stepped out of her apartment into the silent corridors.  
  
******  
  
The weak-minded stormtrooper guarding the small access stairway near the turbolift was more than happy to accommodate Luke's order to let him enter. Carefully punching the entry code, the trooper opened the door. It hissed open to reveal a steep permacrete flight of stairs, brightly lit and infested with security cameras. Luke suppressed a grimace, knowing that half the palace was probably hot on his trail by now.  
  
He spied the access panel, almost completely indistinguishable from the rest of the wall, save for its coded keypad. As the door behind him slid shut, Luke turned to it, his blaster drawn, and shot the lock, melting the mechanism inside. He then faced the access panel, held the blaster at arm's length and fired, the panel flying open in a spray of sparks. A high-pitched, wailing alarm pierced the silence. Behind the door, Luke heard the angry shouts of the alerted stormtrooper, and his useless pounding on the durasteel barrier.  
  
Luke didn't hesitate as he dove with both hands into the nest of colored wires. He could not begin to determine which one operated which system; he just took the vibroblade and began cutting. The first few were severed and nothing happened. He cut two more wires, and the florescent lights sputtered out, the entire stairway suddenly bathed in dim, red emergency lighting. Another cord and the alarms were silenced, the sudden quiet making his ears ring. Behind him, was the loud but useless thumping of blaster fire against the door. Luke jerked the knife through the last remaining wires and quickly pocketed the vibroblade. The cameras ought to be inoperational now, and with their sensors gone, he had to cover as much ground as he could to get out of their radius and avoid being captured.  
  
The banging and blaster shots behind the door continued and Luke didn't wait to see the outcome. Taking the steps in twos, he stumbled up the darkened stairway.  
  
*********  
  
"I want a guard to be sent to Skywalker's suite immediately," Darth Vader ordered to his comlink. "Check to be sure the prisoner is still secured."  
  
There was an inaudible reply and the Dark Lord strode toward the nearest bank of turbolifts. He was halted in mid-stride by the high-pitched wailing of an alarm.  
  
Luke, he thought instantly. Of course it was Luke. He should have know the boy to act fast in whatever foolish thing he was attempting. He brought up his comlink again.  
  
"Lieutenant?" he rumbled. "What is the meaning of this?"  
  
"My Lord," the tinny voice on the other end reported. "We have an intruder on level 520." There was a long pause, and then the voice of the Lieutenant came back, the panic in his voice risen a few notches. "Sir! We're losing control of several systems on level 520-524. Maintenance is on its way now."  
  
Vader did not reply as he abruptly changed course. If Luke Skywalker was causing trouble, it would take far more than a maintenance crew to stop him.  
  
********  
  
Mara stifled a curse as the lights of the corridor blacked out, followed a moment later by the relieving quiet of the silenced alarms. Skywalker, she thought fiercely. Somehow he'd made it into the maintenance corridors and was now wreaking typical Jedi havoc on the palace.  
  
As she approached the utility stairways, she saw several stormtroopers gathered around the closed door, their white armor reflecting the crimson lighting. They were obviously having no success in getting in, and she doubted Skywalker would simply be waiting for them when they did. She turned and slapped the turbolift entrance code. The Jedi would not escape HER.  
  
*********  
  
Subtlety was not a stormtrooper's strong suit, Luke reflected, as he listened to several pairs of boots thundering down the flight of stairs above him. Calmly, he drew his blaster and settled into a crouch next to the wall, waiting for them to come. They saw him, and with a shout, began shooting. There were four of them and they all dropped like swatted insects. Luke hastily stepped over the bodies, keeping his blaster ready.  
  
Sloppily, the door was left open to what, he had calculated, was four levels up from that of his rooms. He didn't know how much higher the palace went, or how he could get to a landing platform, but the lights were out on this level, so he figured it would be safe to search for an exit.  
  
He peered out into the empty corridor, eyes straining in the dim light.  
  
With a searing flash, tracing a darkened line across his vision, a blaster bolt embedded itself into the wall next to Luke's head. The Jedi reeled backward, getting off a shot of his own, just to keep their heads down. Someone fired from the darkness again, and Luke saw the dull glint of red armor under the dim lights.  
  
Beneath him, in the stairwell, was a resounding crash, followed by a triumphant shout and several pairs of footsteps and angry voices coming up to him. He would soon be trapped if he did not get rid of this Imperial guard.  
  
He caught the flash of armor again, and this time took aim, dropping the man prone.  
  
Senses extended, Luke slipped into the shadows again, welcoming the security of the darkness, when the quiet click of a blaster safety stopped him in his tracks.  
  
He whirled, mind racing. He hadn't sensed anyone in the corridor--  
  
Her shimmering red-gold hair reflected the dim light of the passageway and her green eyes flashed. She was brandishing a T-748 blaster in her slender hand. The weapon was illegal on most planets.  
  
And it was aimed at him.  
  
"Hiding from someone, Skywalker?" she asked, giving him a chilly smile, seeing the confusion on his face. "Well, two can play that game. Come on out with your hands up."  
  
Could this fiery young woman use the Force then? Luke wondered as he glared back into her eyes, unmoving. That would explain why she was personal agent to Palpatine.  
  
"Don't think I won't use this if I have to," she warned, hefting the blaster warningly. "I'm sure the Emperor will understand. He might even thank me for it. After all, one must appreciate the special problems of making sure a Jedi stays where you put him." Her voice was a rich alto and rather pleasant to listen to, even when angry. The expression on her face was purely venomous.  
  
"I guess it's a toss-up," Luke said quietly, his blaster still in hand, "of who gets who first."  
  
"If you shot that at me, you'd still be dead," the woman warned.  
  
"True," Luke agreed. "But then I don't think the Emperor would be very happy with you. Dead is a little more permanent than incapacitated. He obviously wants me alive, or he would have killed me already." He shrugged.  
  
"Don't overestimate your own importance, farmboy," she sneered, raising her weapon a little higher. "Drop the blaster."  
  
"I will take care of this, Mara Jade," rumbled a deep, familiar voice.  
  
The young woman whirled to see Darth Vader and two of the ever-present red guards emerging from shadows of the long corridor. "Luke, stop this childishness and put the weapon down."  
  
The woman, Mara Jade, turned her glare on Vader and growled, "you will address me as the Emperor's Hand."  
  
Vader ignored her, his black mask gazing intently at Luke. The Jedi just shook his head, hand tightening on the blaster.  
  
"If you insist on being difficult, you can receive prisoners' treatment," Vader growled threateningly, stepping forward to seize this insolent child. Luke fired at him and Vader's hand flashed out, blocking the bolt.  
  
The Jedi fired again, and, instinctively falling into the guidance of the Force, his left hand brought up the force-pike blindly deflecting a shot from Mara Jade's blaster, which melted his stolen weapon into slag. Luke dropped it to the ground and got off another blaster shot at Vader and a poorly aimed one at the Imperial guard who was advancing to him with his own force-pike when a searing electrical shock suddenly tore through him.  
  
With his concentration on his other opponents, Luke's Jedi abilities had tuned out the second Imperial guard. Now, as they cuffed his hands, Luke remained doubled over, struggling to draw a breath and cursing his own inattentiveness.  
  
"I am taking you to see the Emperor," announced Vader, standing triumphantly over him. Dimly, Luke saw Mara Jade give the Dark Lord a look of pure venom, but held her tongue as Luke was wrenched to his feet.  
  
*******  
  
"Skywalker has been recaptured, Master," Mara Jade reported almost smugly as she knelt in front of Palpatine. The Emperor looked very pleased. "Excellent, my young Hand," he praised her. "You have done well."  
  
Behind her, Luke stood defiantly, hands cuffed, and Vader at his shoulder, his black-gloved hand at the back of Luke's neck, keeping the Jedi still.  
  
Palpatine looked past the redhead to Luke with a patronizing smile on his face. "And what do you have to say for your feeble attempt to escape, my young apprentice?"  
  
Vader's hand suddenly shoved Luke with brutal force to the floor, and with a surprised cry he fell to his knees, facedown against the stone, his hands bound awkwardly behind.  
  
The Emperor peered down at him. "Did you not like your accommodations?"  
  
"No," Luke said stiffly, managing to push back up to his knees, and begin struggling to his feet, determined not to bow to this...thing. No one moved to stop him.  
  
"Ah," Palpatine sat back, as if hearing a spoken response from the Jedi. "So, it is your freedom that you wish, more than all these other things that have been offered you."  
  
"Stay out of my mind!" Luke cried in fury as he straightened, reflexively snapping up his mental barriers and then arching forward with a pained gasp as the Emperor just as quickly tore them down.  
  
"And I suppose," Palpatine went on as if nothing had happened, "that once this freedom was yours, you would return to your noble little rebellion and into the open arms of your friends."  
  
The Jedi didn't answer, trying to make his mind empty, keep his thoughts blank. It was the only way he could think of to keep the Emperor from invading.  
  
"Actually," Palpatine murmured thoughtfully, "I think it is a brilliant idea for you to return to your comrades." Luke froze. "After all, what better way to quickly locate that confounded Rebellion and crush them once and for all? Don't you agree, Lord Vader?"  
  
All the color drained from Luke's face, and Palpatine laughed at the Jedi's reaction. "Yes," he chuckled. "Or did you think I would not be able to locate you once you had escaped the confines of the Palace?"  
  
His eyes suddenly lit up, gauging Luke with an expression that made the young man's skin crawl. "But then, this brings me to another idea," he smiled to Vader. "Who more fully qualified than our young Jedi here to infiltrate the Rebellion and learn its secrets?"  
  
Luke's face went whiter, if that was possible, and he back-stepped into Vader, shaking his head. His hands were trembling with rage and a new sort of fear that gripped him when he thought of his friends in the clutches of this monster.  
  
Palpatine eyed him with glee. "Does this idea not appeal to you, little Jedi?" The Dark Lord's hand tightened on Luke's shoulder and the young man's eyes fluttered shut in brief despair.  
  
Vader prodded him forward and the Emperor reached out one gnarled hand to his shoulder in an almost comradely gesture. "Freedom is very important to you," he said kindly. "And the freedom of your friends is even more so, is it not?"  
  
He saw the defeat in the Jedi's eyes and nodded sagely, a triumphant expression on his face. Surely the boy would soon be his. "I see that you would not willingly put your friends in danger. If you attempt to escape to them, you will only hurt them. We wouldn't want that, now would we? Do I make myself clear?"  
  
Luke nodded fractionally, the heart-wrenching anguish in his eyes going unobserved by his captors.  
  
"Answer me!" Palpatine snapped, a dangerous flame lighting his eyes.  
  
Luke's sudden, overwhelming despair, and the dark knowledge that he was now pulling the noose of captivity tighter around his own neck combined into a single broken reply. Almost inaudibly, he whispered, "Yes."  
  
******** 


	10. 

HOME ONE's main conference room was nearly filled to capacity with the Alliance leaders that had been called to an emergency meeting by Mon Mothma. The stark, sterile assembly room was filled with the low buzz of polite conversation as Rebels took their various seats around long, white tables.  
  
  
  
Outside the main viewports at the front of the room hung a sapphire blue world, brilliant against its ebony backdrop of stars. The planet was called Tangrenenarr—a wildly untamed, un-colonized Eden of feral beauty. It was a beauty that was just as dangerous as it was breathtaking, and it was now to be the temporary home of the Rebel Alliance until they could establish a proper place to head up a new government. There had always been a string of different planets that the Rebels had had prepared to flee to, once the Empire had found their existing hiding places. Running had just been a fact of life, but hopefully that was soon going to change forever.  
  
  
  
In the few short hours that they'd been in this system, a lot had been accomplished down on the surface, but Leia had yet to be groundside and see any of it. She shuffled several of the documents in front of her, as she sat down, scanning over the reports and tapping several keys on her datapad. She'd been incredibly busy recently, and knew the others must be just as much or more so. She couldn't help but wonder with a little bit of trepidation what was so important that the Alliance brass would make them drop everything to be here.  
  
  
  
"I apologize for the brief notice you were all given in order to attend this meeting," Mon Mothma spoke gravely, rising to stand. Her audience quieted, giving her their attention. Leia reluctantly tore her eyes away from the report in her hands and brought her mind back to the present, watching the Alliance leader uncharacteristically standing with her hands clenched at her side, her knuckles white. "And I know how extraordinarily busy you all are, but I thank you for your attendance. I promise to be very brief."  
  
  
  
Leia glanced over at Han, seated a couple tables away, next to Lando Calrissian who managed to be bearing a concerned and attentive look on his face. Solo caught her eye and flashed her a wide grin. She smiled quickly back and, suddenly self-conscious, turned to face the speaker again.  
  
  
  
Mon Mothma looked haggard and worn, her shoulders sloped, her brown eyes tired and bloodshot. Leia wondered how she had not noticed this before. Trying to establish a new government seemed to have been especially hard on her of late. The gaze of the poised Rebel leader flickered across the room to the many people seated at the tables. "The subject is a matter of supreme importance," she told them quietly. A still silence had settled on the room. "And I'm afraid I will have to be the bearer of some rather troubling news."  
  
  
  
Leia's eyes flickered to General Rieekan, seated near Mon Mothma. His gaze was fixed on the center of the table, brow furrowed. "In the chaos of recovering from the Endor battle, and relocating to a new base, several rumors regarding the state and whereabouts of the remains of the Empire have been reported and have circulated over the past several weeks."  
  
  
  
Mon Mothma's forehead crinkled with worry lines as her eyes went to her datapad on the table. "In regard to one such rumor, we have finally been able to verify the legitimacy of these reports." Troubled eyes met those of her silent audience.  
  
  
  
"It has been confirmed," she said slowly, "that contrary to popular opinion, Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader were not killed aboard the second Death Star. Reports are that they both survived the battle of Endor."  
  
  
  
The conference room erupted into a shocked cacophony of noise all around her, as Leia felt like she'd just been kicked in the stomach. She felt bile rise in her throat, and blood pounding in her ears. She looked across the room into Han's equally stunned expression, her thoughts reeling. How could this be true? She wondered in shock. Had the battle of Endor been for nothing? Was the Rebellion never to succeed? And worst of all, she thought darkly, all those lives so casually lost for the sake of their freedom—were those deaths only a senseless waste?  
  
  
  
Tears of anger and frustration rose in her throat, blending in with the enraged fury of the crowd as she realized with a mixture of horror and grief that, among other things, her personal nightmare was not over. The nightmare that Darth Vader was her…  
  
  
  
No. She would not think of him in that way. Ever. Perhaps Luke could accept Vader as their father, but she would not. And as far as she knew—hoped—Vader had no knowledge of her as his daughter. He would not know—no one would ever know. She could put this horrifying truth behind her as if it didn't exist and try to go on with her life.  
  
  
  
As her hands swiped at her eyes, Leia realized she was getting hysterical, and forced herself to calm down. She felt numb all over, not even hearing Mon Mothma's last words as the Alliance leader tried to quiet them.  
  
  
  
"I am very sorry to bring you this news," she apologized, the defeat dulling her eyes as she addressed them. "It appears that the head of the Empire has not been cut off after all, and that Coruscant, as well as much of the rest of the galaxy, are still under strong Imperial rule. But, as before, the war continues. Tangrenenarr looks as if it will be more of a permanent base than we had originally anticipated. But we shall not lose hope that the Alliance shall eventually prevail in this continuous battle against tyranny—if not for our freedom, then the freedom of our posterity. We must never give up." She cast a quick glance at her advisers, sitting grimly in front of her, and then her tired smile encompassed the whole room. "Thank you for attending. This news will travel down the normal Alliance hierarchy. I will now release you to the unpleasant duty of informing your people. This meeting is adjourned."  
  
  
  
The room erupted into chaos; chairs being shoved back, exclamations of disbelief and anger and frustration across the room. Leia remained in her seat, her gaze fixed blankly on the view of space, her thoughts a churning maelstrom. It wasn't until a dark mass obscured her vision that she actually focused on it and realized it was Han, hands on hips, eyeing her with a worried scowl.  
  
  
  
"Hey, princess," he waved a hand in front of her vacant stare. "You awake?"  
  
  
  
Their eyes met and she pursed her lips, her hands clenching into tight, useless fists. "Yes I'm awake," she sighed tiredly. "I only wish I were dreaming."  
  
  
  
Wordlessly, Solo offered his hand, and she silently blessed him for being there when she needed him. "It's a rough blow," she murmured, grateful for his support as she rose to her feet. "But I suppose we'll bounce back from this one just like we have the others." She tried offering a wan smile. Half-heartedly, Solo returned it, his arm slipping down around her shoulders. He hugged her close, and kissed the top of her head.  
  
  
  
"C'mon, hon. Let's go."  
  
  
  
****** 


	11. 

I'm so sorry about this issue with repeating chapters! Arg!!!! Try again. Please review!  
  
  
  
**********  
  
  
  
  
  
Han Solo wiped the perspiration from his forehead with a dirt-streaked hand and raised his comlink to his lips. "Antilles!" he shouted into it, throwing an icy glare at the innocent piece of metal and plastic in his fist. His voice reverberated oddly across the small valley of dank foliage and large, mossy trees. It was too green here for Solo's taste. Too green and too humid, he thought in annoyance as he swiped his sleeve across his forehead for the umpteenth time.  
  
  
  
The Rogue's tinny reply was almost drowned out by the cackling and hooting cries of the local animal life, and Han, tired and frustrated, didn't bother to try to decipher it. "You told me this baby was fixed!" he hollered over the wildlife, redirecting his glare to the one mark of civilization on this ball of weeds.  
  
  
  
The shield generator had to be close to thirty years old—and the decrepit hunk of spare parts certainly looked it—but the Alliance had had to once again resurrect it from the junkyard after the one on Hoth had been destroyed. Unlike Hoth's generator, this one consisted of four stations that jointly generated the shield over the base, which was somewhere in the middle. The problem with this design was that when one station malfunctioned—which these did with depressing regularity—the shield itself could be out of commission for days, not an exciting prospect to those of them that had to repeatedly repair it.  
  
  
  
"What do you mean—isn't it working?" There was a reasonable amount of panic in Wedge's voice, tinny in the comlink speaker.  
  
  
  
"No, Blast it," Solo growled, leaning his hand on the base of the metal tower. Some twenty meters up, where certain lights were supposed to be blinking, the bass humming of machinery making the ground pulsate underneath his feet, there was nothing. "I already ripped the coverplate open, and flipped every restart and override switch I could find. Lenee's back there right now fiddling with it, but I'm seriously considering either hotwiring the thing myself or just taking a hammer to the innards of this glorified trash can."  
  
  
  
He could barely make out Wedge's strained laughter on the other end. "Is that supposed to be a threat or something, Solo?" he asked. "Well, my boys and I will meet you up there in a few minutes. I'll bring the hammer."  
  
  
  
Han stalked around to the other side of the station, where Lenee Dow's voice could be heard muttering and cursing impressively in several different languages. Solo squinted in the dimming sunlight. Days on Tangrenenarr were unusually short—another issue that received a lot of complaining from the troops—but he felt the title of working all day hadn't been any less grueling to earn, despite the fact that results had been disappointing so far.  
  
  
  
A bright blue flash illuminated the corrugated metal side of the tower and several sparks, along with an encouraging plume of smoke erupted from the repair panel. Lenee had jumped back with a cry of surprise and pain, mixed with several more choice expletives. Han hurried forward. "Are you okay, Lenee?"  
  
  
  
The younger man scrunched his face up in an expression of defeat and frustration—one that Solo could readily identify with—and brought his injured hand out for inspection. There was a particularly nasty-looking burn across his palm, and he made another face. "I suppose I'll survive," he muttered sourly.  
  
  
  
"Yeah," Han murmured, leaning forward to inspect the fried insides of the generator station. "This hunk of junk might be another issue, though. Tell Wedge to forget that hammer."  
  
  
  
"Huh?"  
  
  
  
Solo just shook his head, still studying the melted components. "Nothing. Why don't we head back to base to find a generator repair guy, and some medical attention for that burn of yours."  
  
  
  
Lenee held up his hands in surrender. "You've got no argument here, Solo. Enough of this is enough."  
  
  
  
"My sentiments exactly."  
  
  
  
  
  
**  
  
  
  
  
  
The new Rebel base was eventually to be a bunker of sorts, and with luck, everything would be safely underground, away from the host of ferocious animals thriving on the surface, among other things. The generator was only to be a temporary measure until the base was finished, meant to guard against these unwanted guests. Already, the carnivorous Krukkars—nocturnal beasts that were about three meters long and had many long, sharp teeth—had attacked two people. Naturally, after surviving the Empire relatively unscathed, the Alliance did not wish their numbers to be decimated by a mere pack of hungry animals if there was something that could be done about it.  
  
  
  
Solo only hoped the generator station could be repaired. But for tonight, it looked as though they would have to station sniper guards on the perimeter again. General Madine was not going to be happy.  
  
  
  
By the time Han pulled their speeder into the makeshift hangar it was almost completely dark outside, and nothing more could be done until the following day. "Okay," Han said, rubbing his hands together in mock excitement. "It's dinner time. Rations bars, here we come." Lenee exited his side of the speeder, pulling another face at Han's prediction.  
  
  
  
"Then I suppose I won't be missing much if I go get this taken care of," he held up his hand, wrapped in the white gauze taken from the speeder's med-kit. "I'll be sure to report to you if the food's any better in the infirmary."  
  
  
  
"Don't count on it," Han scowled. "Are you just going to leave me alone to face Madine? After you who were the one who fried that station in the first place?"  
  
  
  
Lenee sighed. "No, I'll go report it on my way down."  
  
  
  
"Okay, pal. See you later, then."  
  
  
  
Solo turned and headed the opposite direction, looking for Leia.  
  
  
  
**  
  
  
  
Leia Organa was tired. And when she was tired she got irritable. And when she got irritable, heaven help any poor soul who got in her way, she thought wearily, checking her chronometer and feeling relieved to see it was time for the evening meal, such as it was.  
  
  
  
She got up stiffly from her chair—in which she had been seated for the last four hours—and stretched tired muscles. The small cell-like cubicle that someone actually had the nerve to refer to as an office had been allotted to her to allow her the presence of mind to think clearly while she sifted through a good sized stack of reports, but all it had done for her was make her feel claustrophobic. And irritable.  
  
  
  
The base was still in the process of being constructed and hewn out, and a lot more work was still in order. On her way out, Leia passed several Rebels tirelessly blasting out sections of the earthen wall, digging the bunker deeper into the ground. She shook her head, thinking that it was more than likely that as soon as the base was near completion, the Empire would find them and drive them out again. Like they had so many times before. Now she felt even more disheartened knowing that it was possible that the Rebellion's situation might never improve, that the Alliance might just spiral down until all resistance to the Empire was completely wiped out. She made a face. Now that wasn't a very cheerful thought.  
  
  
  
"Hello princess, are you ignoring me today?" asked a familiar voice to her right. Leia started. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed Han coming toward her. He looked more exhausted than she was; his hair unruly, his clothes rumpled and dirty, and a long streak of dirt across his forehead. There was a lopsided smile on his face.  
  
  
  
"Oh, Han," Leia tried to smile back. "I didn't see you."  
  
  
  
"So I noticed." He came forward to embrace her, but she caught his hands before he could touch her.  
  
  
  
"Oh no you don't," she laughed shortly, eyeing his dirt-streaked self and then nodding toward the sleeve of her starched, white jumpsuit. "I'm clean, and I'd like to stay that way."  
  
  
  
"So my hands are dirty," he shrugged, looking hurt. "What are you afraid of?"  
  
  
  
Leia tried not to smile as they circled. "What have you been doing all day anyway? Wrestling with Duluulian mud bunnies?"  
  
  
  
"If I told you the truth, you wouldn't be nearly as impressed."  
  
  
  
"Try me."  
  
  
  
His hands shot out lightning fast, seizing Leia's upper arms. She got out a brief laughing shout of surprise before he silenced her with a long kiss.  
  
  
  
A moment later, they pulled apart, realizing that they were attracting a small audience of amused Rebels, desperate for entertainment. Solo took her hand, guiding her to a smaller, unused corridor where they could be alone. "I love you, nerf herder," Leia whispered, kissing him again.  
  
  
  
Han gave her a lopsided smile, their faces still inches apart. "Do you?" he asked.  
  
  
  
"Yes."  
  
  
  
"Then why don't you marry me?" he suggested.  
  
  
  
She drew back in surprise. "What?"  
  
  
  
Han's smile grew wider. "I said why don't you marry me?"  
  
  
  
Her first reaction was one of shocked, giddy elation. She loved him with all her heart, and could think of nothing more reasonable.  
  
  
  
Her second reaction following on the heels of the first covered up her excitement with guilt. What was she doing having a personal life here, when there was so much to be done; when throughout the galaxy a war viciously raged on?  
  
  
  
Leia realized she was shaking her head, oblivious to Han's puzzled frown. "I don't think I can," she murmured.  
  
  
  
Solo's expression was giving away to genuine hurt. "Why?" he demanded. "What's wrong?"  
  
  
  
Leia just shook her head again. "The war. It's still going—they still need me. It's not over yet."  
  
  
  
"The war may never be over," he pointed out. "When are you going to begin to live? Are you going to let a couple of goons like Vader and Palpatine rule your life and dictate your happiness?"  
  
  
  
"No," she said slowly, not sure she could make him understand—not sure if she herself understood her own duties and her loyalty to them. But he was right. Despite the galaxy's turmoil, she still had to go on with her life.  
  
  
  
The reticence was slowly dissipating, and her mind smiling happily knowing that Han loved her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her. It was possible that after everything that had happened, there could still be happiness in store for her down the rough road.  
  
  
  
Leia let a crooked smile of her own come to her face as she brushed at a dirt smudge on her shoulder. "Aren't you supposed to get down on one knee for this, Solo?" she asked.  
  
  
  
The grin reappeared, wider than ever. "Only if you'll say yes," he replied, eyes sparkling.  
  
  
  
"It's a deal."  
  
  
  
  
  
******** 


	12. chapter 12

I am really sorry for not posting more story in a long time, but I'm trying to resume this now and I hope you enjoy it! Reviews=happy authors; happy authors=more story!  
  
  
  
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********  
  
Luke Skywalker was staring, arms folded, out the main viewport on the bridge of the Star Destroyer, CONQUERER, his thoughts a blur of emotions, much like the view of hyperspace in front of him. By Coruscant's time, it was close to midnight, and the ship was running half-manned for the night, only a skeleton force down in the crew-pit. By all rights he should have been tired, but he couldn't sleep.  
  
  
  
The crewmembers aboard the Star Destroyer, as a rule, had avoided the young black-clad stranger that had arrived aboard the ship with Darth Vader a week before. Luke had not spoken or smiled, or acknowledged any of them, as he followed unwillingly behind Vader like a shadow wherever the Dark Lord went. Luke was well aware of their curiosity about him, but was too preoccupied to care what they thought.  
  
  
  
There was a quiet step behind him, and Luke turned to see Mara Jade standing there, right hand loosely holding her blaster.  
  
  
  
Luke didn't want to see her-he didn't want to see anyone-and he turned back to the viewports, hoping if he ignored her she would go away.  
  
  
  
But she didn't, stepping up to the rail, her gaze flicking to the viewports. "Are you enjoying the lovely view?" she asked sarcastically.  
  
  
  
Luke pursed his lips, his gaze not leaving the hyperspace scene, keeping his temper in check. Why was it that his anger could flare up so easily, after barely being provoked? Or had his control over his emotions always been this fragile?  
  
  
  
Without looking at her, he said, "You know, you can put that thing away- it's not like I'm going to be going anywhere."  
  
  
  
She raised her blaster, pointing it at his head, and released the safety. "You mean this?" she asked.  
  
  
  
Slowly, Luke turned to face her, his eyes resting tiredly on the weapon. "What do you want?"  
  
  
  
She glared furiously, adjusting her grip on the gun. "It's not about what I want," she said quietly, almost reciting. "I'm following the Emperor's orders."  
  
  
  
"I see," Luke murmured. "The Emperor ordered you to run around this ship terrorizing me every chance you get?"  
  
  
  
Her gaze narrowed as she lowered the blaster. "Do you think I do this for the fun of it?" she demanded.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, I'd say that was the impression I got," Luke answered. He was not in the mood to be congenial at the moment.  
  
  
  
"Look, Skywalker," she snapped, the gun coming up to point in his face again. This woman had a twitchy trigger finger. "Palpatine's orders are that I keep an eye on you. And I'm obeying them despite the fact that I'd much rather kill you and get it over with like he wanted me to do in the first place."  
  
  
  
Luke frowned. "What do you mean "in the first place"?" he asked.  
  
  
  
She laughed coldly, dropping the blaster to her side. "Oh now you see you haven't always been as important as you thought."  
  
  
  
Luke forcibly shoved back his reflexive annoyance, turning his glare back toward the viewport and insisting to himself that he would not get angry. He let the relief of the silence hang in the air for a few more moments, until he ignored his common sense and spoke up again.  
  
  
  
"Why did Palpatine want to have me killed?" he asked quietly, his gaze not leaving the mottled view of space.  
  
  
  
She regarded him again, her expression stony. "Do you think he didn't know of Vader's offer to you to help him rule the galaxy?"  
  
  
  
"I don't think Vader meant it seriously," Luke murmured.  
  
  
  
"Well, PALPATINE did!" Mara shot back. "What Vader did was practically bordering on treason, and to the Emperor, you were suddenly a threat that needed to be eliminated."  
  
  
  
Luke raised his eyebrows questioningly. "That's interesting. It seems to me like he wants very much to keep me alive now," he pointed out. "What changed his mind?"  
  
  
  
Something in her face changed, Luke saw. Underneath the dark brooding anger of her tough exterior, her eyes flashed. Something, if he wasn't mistaken, that looked like a deep pain. And as quickly as it had appeared, it was hidden again. When she spoke again, her tone was icy. "Just drop it, Skywalker, okay?"  
  
  
  
He shrugged and turned back to the viewport. "Is that why you're here now?" he asked quietly. "The Emperor views me as a threat?" It was a refreshing thought, really. Luke might be on the losing side of the battle, but the fact that Palpatine seemed to be afraid of him comforted the Jedi somewhat.  
  
  
  
"Well, with the combination of you and Vader," Mara nodded. "He's rightfully not foolish enough to leave you two out of his sights for long."  
  
  
  
Luke stared pensively into space, fighting off the uncomfortable impression that he was some sort of prize to be won. The Emperor wanted him; Vader wanted him. He was just a tool to be used by one of them. "Palpatine needn't worry," he murmured. "Because I will not be joining him, or Vader, or anyone else for that matter."  
  
  
  
Mara cocked her head to one side, a disparaging expression on her face and laughed shortly. "Do you really believe that?" she asked.  
  
  
  
He turned to her. "Is there a reason why I shouldn't?"  
  
  
  
She looked him up and down in a look that almost resembled pity. Snorting softly, she replied, "If he wants to turn you to the Dark Side, he will. He'll break you-use any weakness he can find as a weapon to destroy you. You can't win against him, Skywalker."  
  
  
  
Briefly, Luke's thoughts flashed to Han and Leia and he shivered involuntarily. She nodded knowingly, seeing the expression on his face. "If you want my advice," she said quietly. "Just cooperate. Do what he wants and spare yourself and the people you care for the misery of heading toward the inevitable."  
  
  
  
Luke felt his anger flare up again, this time going unchecked as the realization of why she was here finally entered his mind. "How concerned you suddenly are with my welfare," he bit out, hearing the sarcasm seep into his own voice, but not taking off the hard edge of his fury. "I'm touched. You're just another way for Palpatine to try to get to me."  
  
  
  
She turned on him, her almost friendly expression burned away by her suddenly blazing green eyes. "Fine." she snapped. "Think that way and don't take my advice. You can DIE for all I care!"  
  
  
  
"I'd much rather die than turn to the Dark Side!" Luke snapped back. "And you can tell your precious Emperor so. Tell him it will take a lot more than just sending some pretty girl to talk me out of it!"  
  
  
  
She drew away from the rail, green eyes molten with fury. "You Jedi are full of a lot of fancy words and long-winded speeches," she snapped. "And I will happily look forward to seeing them shoved down your throat! Don't say I didn't try to warn you."  
  
  
  
She stalked off angrily, ignoring the questioning glances she received from several crewmembers around the bridge.  
  
  
  
********  
  
  
  
"You must understand that the reason I have called you here," Rieekan offered a grim smile as he gripped Solo's hand in firm greeting and ushered him into his small, but quiet office, "is that I trust you explicitly with a job that must be done." He motioned both Han and Leia to seats in the cramped quarters and shut the door behind him, stifling the flurry of background noise that seemed to permeate every corner of the base throughout every hour of the day.  
  
"General Solo," he smiled slightly at Han, drawing a small holocube from a drawer in his battered desk. "Are you familiar with the planet Mascaggani?" He held the object aloft for them to see.  
  
Solo frowned as he leaned forward and made out a small picture of a world, typical in its motley swirl of greens and blues. "Isn't that the Alliance's main supplier for medical equipment and pharmaceuticals?"  
  
"Yes," the general nodded. "They have declared neutrality in the war and have maintained a fairly healthy relationship with both the Alliance and the Empire, supplying goods to both." He placed the cube back in the drawer and set his elbows on the scratched carbon of the desktop. "The problem is that when one of our crews went to meet them at the rendezvous point over Valdere, no one appeared with the promised supplies. I fear that the Imperials may have intercepted the shipment, or that perhaps the Mascagganis are rethinking their position as our Allies." He shook his head. "But I do know that we are running perilously low on much needed medical supplies."  
  
"So you want me to go to Mascaggani?" Solo asked.  
  
Rieekan nodded. "All in the name of peaceful negotiations, of course," he assured Han. Solo began to retort how he'd much prefer a straight fight to peaceful negotiations any day, but the general cut him off, saying, "they're too valuable an ally to estrange-please keep that in mind, by the way-and we must proceed with caution as we are not quite sure of their present position. The princess, naturally, will be handling the negotiations," he nodded to Leia.  
  
"Oh," Han agreed almost sarcastically. "Naturally."  
  
"Also, we will be sending an escort of three X-wing fighters-not," he added quickly, "that we expect any trouble, but we should exercise caution." A slight smile softened Rieekan's grim expression. "Does all this meet your approval, Solo?" he asked.  
  
Han raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Fine by me," he agreed. "So long as you don't separate me from the chief negotiator here," he threw a lopsided grin at Leia.  
  
"Good," Rieekan chuckled. "And by the way, I haven't had a chance to congratulate you two on your engagement."  
  
"Thank you, general." Han rose to his feet and once again shook the older man's hand.  
  
"We'll prepare for you to depart in about three standard hours."  
  
Solo nodded and took Leia's arm, escorting her out. As the door behind them hissed shut, Han murmured, "you know there are times when I really regret giving up the life of a smuggler and accepting a rank in the Alliance."  
  
Leia cocked her head up at him. "Why? Because you have to take orders from someone else?"  
  
Han shook his head ruefully. "No, not really. The pay was just a whole lot better."  
  
Leia smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder. "You'd rather have the money than me?"  
  
Solo frowned into her hair. "Who says I couldn't have both?" he asked. "Or do you only claim to have interest in the men that have gone respectable and joined this precious rebellion of yours?"  
  
For once, Leia didn't get her back up at the flippant comment. "Well, actually, I was just thinking of what might have happened if we HAD never met. If things hadn't transpired the way they did, neither of us would know the other existed." She shrugged. "It was just a thought."  
  
Han stopped her in her tracks, hands on her shoulders, and he bent down to kiss her. "Well don't scare me like that," he murmured.  
  
Leia put a finger to his lips. "Remember my rules about being kissed out in the open like this," she laughed, throwing a quick self-conscious glance about the corridor.  
  
"Oh, yeah." Han cupped her face in his hands. "You need more people around, right?"  
  
"Nerf-herder," Leia whispered, her slender fingers grasping his wrists and pushing him away. "We have a lot to do right now, and there's no time for this."  
  
"Thanks for reminding me," Solo smiled lopsidedly as he reluctantly started walking again. "I must have forgotten."  
  
  
  
******* 


	13. chapter 13

This one's short, but it needed to be in its own chapter.  
  
  
  
**********  
  
The planet in front of him was typical in its motley swirls of greens and blues, and Luke stared at it dispassionately from his now-familiar vantage point on the bridge of the CONQUERER, his face the unreadable mask of a neutral expression.  
  
The days that he'd been confined to this ship had stretched into weeks. He'd been quiet and melancholy, purposely avoiding everyone he could and keeping to himself. Three months ago-though it seemed like a lifetime-a certain Han Solo would have accused him of brooding. But now Luke was alone without another single person who genuinely cared for him; alone with his burning conscience that accused him of betrayal every time he took in the surroundings of the Star Destroyer, reminding him despondently that he had chosen this for himself-willingly promised to stay and be a traitor-for the well-being of friends who thought him long dead.  
  
An unmistakable presence entered the vicinity with the sound of rhythmic breathing and loud footfalls, a fearful hush falling over the bridge. Luke didn't bother to turn around, but simply stared coldly at the planet.  
  
Vader came up to stand behind him, respirator hissing loudly in the sudden quiet. "The glimpse of a planet from space has always held me in rapt fascination too, my son," he said conversationally into the silence. Luke didn't answer or move. He wondered what the crewmembers thought of their menacing Dark Lord discussing the wonders of the universe and calling this melancholy stranger 'son'. He then realized they probably would think nothing of it, since Vader would most likely wipe their memories of this event. All the better for them.  
  
"This planet is called Mascaggani," his father informed him pleasantly. Luke frowned. The name rang a bell, but he couldn't recall why he seemed to recognize it.  
  
"Yes," Vader rumbled, satisfied. "I thought it might sound familiar to you." He paused momentarily, ignoring the mild hostility from his son. "You will follow me," he told Luke. "There is someone important we need to meet in the main docking bay."  
  
The Jedi turned at this, a determined scowl in his piercing blue eyes. "Who is it?" he asked.  
  
"I'm afraid you'll have to come and find out for your self," the Dark Lord told him. He gestured casually to the viewport and Luke glanced back again, but this time, emerging from the dark depths of space and the camouflage of the planet, he saw the flickering lights of an approaching Imperial shuttle and its escort of TIE fighters rising from the swirling blue world to meet the Star Destroyer.  
  
Vader gestured again. "Come, my son." Quietly, reluctantly, Luke followed.  
  
They entered the docking bay just as the shuttle was settling, with hissing repulsorlifts, onto the cold, metallic floor. Several squads of Stormtroopers, standing at rigid attention, lined both sides of an aisle to the ship, through which Luke and Vader walked. They approached the foot of the lowering ramp, standing next to Mara Jade, who threw them a withering glare and then faced forward.  
  
Four Imperial guards emerged from the shuttle first and moved to stand at their posts. Luke felt cold permeate his being as the person behind them came into view. With deliberate slowness he came down the ramp, seemingly aged and infirm as he leaned heavily upon the twisted black cane.  
  
Vader bowed. Luke stood rigidly still. "Welcome to the CONQUERER, my master." Palpatine's piercing yellow eyes peered out from the black cowl of the robe and regarded the younger Skywalker.  
  
"You may rise, Lord Vader," he told the Dark Lord. With a chuckle, he began walking again. "I see our young Jedi is ready to continue his training."  
  
They followed him as his horrible laughter echoed throughout the hangar.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
********* 


	14. chapter 14

Sorry about the tremendous wait! Enjoy! --Tarado  
  
  
  
  
  
The ornate, oversized throne seemed almost out of place where it had been perched, like a decorator's nightmare, at the end of a narrow, carpeted conference room. It was clear the act of making a "throne room" on the CONQUERER had been a spontaneous decision made in the alarming realization that the greatly feared leader of the Empire was going to make an appearance too soon to prepare anything better. The room was thoroughly unfitting of the Emperor's grand, imposing style, but it seemed something Palpatine had decided to overlook.momentarily.  
  
Mara Jade knelt in front of the monstrous chair, gazing at the floral patterns in the Veletian carpet and trying not to feel the heat of her master's gaze on her bowed head.  
  
"You may rise, my young Hand," the ruler said, his voice like sandpaper and gravel on her ears. Mara obeyed and stood up. The Emperor's dark silhouette was all her dazzled eyes could see, owing to the brightness of the Mascaggani's orb shining through the viewports, but she tried to remain attentive and focus her gaze on where she was pretty sure she could see Palpatine's yellow eyes peering out from the cowl of his black robe. "Bring Luke Skywalker to me," he ordered. "Immediately."  
  
  
  
*****  
  
"You ready, sweetheart?" Han asked, glancing back at Leia, seated behind him in the cockpit of the FALCON as he reached for the hyperspace levers. She gave him a distracted smile and nodded, while, seated in the copilot's chair, Chewie barked his own two cents. "Then it's show time," Solo grinned, watching the counter tick to zero and then dramatically pulling back the levers.  
  
Star-lines shrank into singular gleams, the large sphere of the planet occupying much of the view. On either side of the FALCON, their 'escort' ships emerged in tandem from hyperspace: An X-wing to their left and an A- wing on the right. They presented the typical stereotype of the Alliance's hodgepodge resources, Leia thought with a grimace. Not a very good way to make a good impression on people from whom you desperately needed help, but it had been all Rieekan had been able to spare. He had made sure, though, that the FALCON was escorted by the best two pilots that they had.  
  
"Quiet neighborhood," Han commented, cautiously bringing the ship in and toggling the com switch. "Antilles? Celchu?" he called to the escorts. "How's it look?"  
  
"Like a graveyard, boss," Wedge responded. "No threats that I can see."  
  
"That's the way we like it. But, keep your eyes open." He thumbed the switch again. "Okay, let's wake them up, huh?" He threw a grin back at Leia. "I brought all my fake IDs just for the occasion."  
  
"Good to know you're prepared, GENERAL," she smirked. In some ways, Han would never outgrow his overly cautious smuggler habits. "But I'm pretty sure they're not going to blast us out of the sky."  
  
"Hey," Solo defended himself, "We still don't know what's going on here, but I'd prefer not to make ourselves sitting targets until we learn just what kind of people we are dealing with."  
  
He touched several switches and leaned forward to the speaker. "Mascaggani control, this is the FALCON STAR, requesting permission to land."  
  
  
  
****  
  
Mara strode purposefully down the cold metal corridors of the Star Destroyer to stop in front of Luke Skywalker's quarters. "I have orders that Skywalker is to come with me," she informed the two faceless stormtrooper guards coolly.  
  
With slightly befuddled nods, they stepped out of her way, their blank-eyed helmets watching her key the door open with a quiet hiss. She quickly entered and shut the door behind her, her eyes rapidly adjusting to the dim lighting of the room.  
  
"Skywalker?" she called into the darkness. The room appeared empty, but she knew better. Mara drew her small, compact blaster from its holster in her sleeve in case the Jedi was foolish enough to try anything.  
  
A small table, with two black nerf-leather chairs tucked neatly underneath, held a tray bearing the last meal that had been delivered to him. It had the gray, congealed appearance of food cooked in some of the Empire's most infamous cafeterias, made all the worse by the fact that it was now stone cold. It still bore a pathetic little leaf for garnish, and the silverware lay undisturbed beside it, completely untouched by the room's occupant. Mara wrinkled her nose in disgust, advancing further into the poorly lit room.  
  
Rounding a corner, she made out his darkened silhouette lying motionlessly on the bed, facing away from her.  
  
"Skywalker," she came forward and nudged his shoulder with the tip of her blaster. "You asleep?"  
  
For a moment he didn't respond. When she jabbed him again with the weapon, his quiet voice said irritably, "No I'm not asleep." He turned wearily to face her, his features pale and strained. His blue eyes were dark with shadow and full of dread. They regarded her almost as if she wasn't there. "What do you want?"  
  
Mara took a surprised step back at seeing his expression, her raised blaster dropping forgotten to her side. "The Emperor wants to see you."  
  
For a moment he didn't move, didn't act as if he'd heard her. As she opened her mouth to repeat the order, a nauseating wave of horror suddenly emanated from him, washing over her with staggering force. Instinctively, Mara snapped up her barriers and mentally shook free of his dark fear, wondering what had just happened. Didn't the Jedi tout the philosophy that fear was of the dark side? Then why would this upstart, optimistic Jedi wannabe be so obviously terrified? She frowned. What was going on?  
  
As she watched him slowly get to his feet, an abrupt surge of sympathetic emotion welled in her throat. Mara shook her head in disgust at herself. She could not possibly be feeling sorry for him-this tenth-rate farm boy who'd humiliated her in front of her master, and reduced her credibility in Palpatine's eyes.  
  
She nudged the Jedi in the back with her blaster. Silently, he plodded ahead, seemingly too preoccupied to be annoyed with her. Mara shut her eyes and pushed the questions out of her mind. Whatever was bothering Skywalker was his problem. She had a job to do.  
  
*****  
  
  
  
As the doors of the throne room hissed open, a flood of blinding bluish light shining eerily through the viewports assaulted Mara's eyes. The bulky, oversized throne spun slowly around while the towering silhouette of Darth Vader turned to regard them, his steady, hissing breathing completing the ominous foreboding feeling that pervaded the room.  
  
"It's good of you to join us, my young apprentice," the Emperor welcomed the Jedi at the front of her blaster. His cold, sarcastic tone mocked the hospitable words. "By all means, bring him closer, Jade."  
  
Mara quickly acquiesced and with a small nudge from the blaster, Skywalker numbly complied.  
  
Palpatine chuckled as they approached. "I'm sure it would interest you to know," he began, leaving no doubt with anyone that it was to Skywalker he addressed his words, "that we are heading toward the western hemisphere of this planet as we speak, to meet some people you, doubtless, are acquainted with." There was no response from the Jedi, who tried to keep his expression blank and impassive as he concentrated his gaze on the hypnotizing swirling blue beyond the room. Palpatine just laughed.  
  
"So at last," he proclaimed, "we shall meet with this ever-elusive sibling of yours." Another chuckle. "Interesting to note that if you had not reacted as violently to detecting her presence so close by, I might have missed her altogether. She would have slipped away." He smiled. "But thanks to you."  
  
Mara did not think Skywalker's pale features could have gotten any whiter, but she was wrong. The Emperor laughed again, seeing his taunt had found its mark.  
  
"You must be commended, though," he went on conversationally, "for being so unwilling to put her in danger that you would hide your presence from her." He cocked his head up at the Dark Lord. "I must say, Lord Vader, when we can keep his stubbornness at bay, your son is a remarkably quick learner." His goading smile turned on the Jedi once more. "But I've always known that the Skywalker will can be easily overridden when given the proper.incentive."  
  
*******  
  
"Looks like nobody's home," Han muttered mostly to himself, shaking his head and thinking of a few choice names to call the innocent com unit in front of him. He turned back to Leia, eyebrows raised. "Do you have any suggestions, Madame Negotiator? How long do we camp out in this system waiting for someone to notice us?"  
  
A thoughtful frown creased Leia's porcelain features, and she shook her dark head. "I don't really know," she admitted. "Maybe we should just take a chance and land without permission."  
  
"And risk shooting these negotiations in the foot?" Han asked. "That doesn't sound like a move of yours, princess."  
  
"I seem to recall you would prefer a fair fight to all this sneaking around," she reminded him.  
  
"Yeah, but that was before they made me a general in this cause of yours."  
  
"Yes, it does seem that you are getting soft," Leia agreed. "Well, keep trying."  
  
Solo grunted, toggling the switch again. "Traffic control, this is the FALCON STAR, and we are requesting permission to land." The familiar burst of empty static was the only thing that answered his call.  
  
"Solo," Wedge's voice suddenly interjected over the speakers. "We have a ship coming in from nightside, bearing 5260023."  
  
Han's eyes were instantly skimming over his displays, and with a stomach knotting in dread, he identified the ship, just as Tycho's voice grimly confirmed it.  
  
"It's a Star Destroyer."  
  
Chewie barked an unintelligible protest and Han, muttering a curse under his breath, slapped several switches. "That's it," he called to their two escorting fighters. Sluggishly, the FALCON began to move. "Set course for hyperspace now. We're getting out of here."  
  
******  
  
The throne room was silent, waiting. Mara watched the other three occupants of the room, staring expectantly out the viewports, and wondered vaguely what was going on. She squinted to make out the objects that the Star Destroyer seemed to be bearing down on, and a moment later, could discern them as three separate ships.  
  
Palpatine lifted his hand dramatically, a small smile playing across his face. "Here they are." The spacecraft, looking a little bewildered at suddenly being pursued by a Star Destroyer, did not seem to react right away as several squadrons of black, insect-like TIE fighters began to converge on them. But with unexpected speed, the three ships abruptly scattered, waves of fighters in hot pursuit.  
  
Sweeping closer into view, executing suicidal spins in an effort to shake its pursuers, Mara finally saw and recognized the main ship and it was definitely familiar to her. She'd studied the MILLENIUM FALCON inside and out, knew its capabilities and most of its modifications. It had only been a small part of her intense research of her assigned project: know everything about the Jedi she had been ordered to kill.  
  
Standing next to Vader, his back to Mara, Skywalker stiffened visibly, seeing the ship that doubtlessly contained his friends.  
  
The sight in front of them was suddenly a sea of red and green laser blasts amidst the flurry of black ships.  
  
"Do you see how easily and quickly I can have these friends of yours in my complete control if it is my wish?" Palpatine commented offhandedly.  
  
Skywalker saw, all right, Mara noted, observing the Jedi's formerly strained expression give way to something deeper and more pained. He did not answer, gazing as if lost in the storm of the battle.  
  
And indeed, reflected the Emperor's Hand, perhaps he was.  
  
******  
  
While the FALCON might not have had the ability to outrun a Star Destroyer, its maneuvering capabilities had been proven before. Still, Leia gritted her teeth, fingernails digging into the soft back of Han's seat as the ship's internal gravity compensator did not quite account for the latest tight roll its pilot threw it into.  
  
"Chewie, do you have those coordinates ready yet?" Solo gritted as the ship shot through a horde of oncoming fighters. A blast struck the top right side of the FALCON, making the freighter lurch sideways and its occupants scramble to stay upright.  
  
Chewbacca growled something Leia didn't quite catch, and then in a snappy tone, Han yelled something at his copilot. Suddenly, the edges of her vision went fuzzy and her hearing dimmed. Leia did not hear or notice anything going on around her, but floating up before her eyes was an unmistakable picture of her brother.  
  
Luke was staring at her-or rather, through her, his hair dark and disheveled, his shoulders hunched, taut worry lines around his boyish mouth that she remembered was always so quick to smile. But the thing that cut her to the heart was the wrenching, vulnerable pain in his tired, faded blue eyes. Instinctively, she cried out for him, before the scene shredded in front of her, returning to the cockpit of the FALCON and the crazed battle they had been immersed in.  
  
"You all right, sweetheart?" Han called back to her without taking his eyes of his flying. "Weren't worried about me not being able to make that turn, were you?"  
  
There was a sudden lump that formed in her throat, and she could not answer. The abrupt gut-wrenching drop Han took the ship into then spared her from doing so.  
  
******  
  
"The choice is yours, my young apprentice," Palpatine said slowly, watching Skywalker closely, a small, belittling smile of his face. "You can once again refuse to serve me, and witness the capture of your friends, hereafter letting them be at the mercy of my wrath; or you can set them free. The decision is entirely up to you."  
  
The Jedi had not spoken a word since he had entered the throne room, but now, settling his tormented eyes directly on Palpatine's, his breathing was audible from where Mara stood. He looked ready to swoon. In a voice she hardly recognized, his eyes bearing full knowledge of what he was saying, Skywalker whispered dejectedly, "What do I have to do?"  
  
The Emperor's triumphant glee was almost palpable, a sickly smile settling over his face. "Do everything I order you to do, my young Jedi. I want nothing from them so long as you obey me. Do these things and I shall let them go."  
  
Skywalker's shoulders slumped in defeat and surrender, finally broken.  
  
The Emperor's hideous laughter reverberated throughout the room, and Mara looked on, supposing she should feel triumph in her crushing revenge over Skywalker, but inside she felt only a hollow and sympathetic pain.  
  
******  
  
"All right, let's get out of here on my mark," Solo's tinny voice spoke into Tycho's headset.  
  
The pilot barked a distracted affirmative, quickly picking off two more TIEs who had the tenacious gall to keep pursuing him. Their third friend proved tricky enough, getting off a lucky shot before he too was turned into space-dust.  
  
The TIE's shot had damaged something rather important, Tycho determined by the angry red flashing diagnostics scrolling up that he did not have time to read. But the Rebel decided to deal with it later as there were several more Imperials screaming toward him in pursuit.  
  
The coordinates for the hyperspace jump scrolled up on his screen, and there were a couple more unintelligible words from Solo before both the freighter and the X-wing disappeared into the safety of hyperspace. Tycho wasted no time and did not spare his assailants a look back as he pulled back his own hyperspace levers, expecting to hear the familiar whine and see the streaking stars in front of him.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
In audible surprise, the Alderaanian pulled them back again, but to no avail. The hyperdrive was dead. So that was what had been damaged, he realized belatedly, suddenly noting the closing proximity of the other pursuing fighters. It looked as though he was going to have to outrun them.  
  
Kicking the A-wing into gear, he dropped the ship into a low dive toward the planet's surface. He had a better chance of losing these blasted Imperials if he had a little camouflage to back him up.  
  
Most of Mascaggani was a very rough, rocky terrain, which, Tycho supposed, would provide just as good concealment as anything, provided he fly low enough. The ship pitched forward from another good hit, but he brought the fighter under control and took it down as close to the surface as he dared. Large, jagged boulders loomed, a small smattering of trees accentuating the deserted landscape.  
  
He counted six ships still tight on his tail, and knew he would have to lose them. Eyes searching for any canyons or deep ravines he could make suicidal dives through, Tycho winced as his fighter shuddered violently with another scoring hit.  
  
Moments later, he realized his very serious trouble as several lights in the cockpit flashed red and then dimmed completely. The small fighter was now obviously losing altitude. Angry red diagnostics scrolled up on his small screen, but it was too late to do anything about them now.  
  
Tycho Celchu only had time to give a slight grimace to the rapidly approaching terrain before the A-wing crashed to the ground. 


	15. chapter 15

Well, after a very long time, this story is back. Feel free to reread, and feel comforted in the fact that I will try to update on something of a regular basis from now on  
  
--Tarado  
  
*********  
  
Tangrenenarr's sky was a brilliant palette of vibrant color as the sun, in fiery death throes, sank behind the blackened silhouette of the forest beyond the base. Leia pulled her thin jacket tighter around her shoulders against the chilled air trying to penetrate the tough material. It was getting late, and she knew she should be safely inside the base, but couldn't tear her eyes from the compelling sight, or her swirling thoughts from endlessly running in circles.  
  
She had felt lost and alone with the memory of Luke's haunted expression swimming up before her eyes during the brief, but tense battle over Mascaggani. Throughout the returning flight and since their arrival back with the Rebels, his image kept coming to her, haunting both dreams and waking moments. The image was not her remembrance of him that she could recall with perfect clarity, like time had been held suspended, before his death at the Battle of Endor: light-colored hair falling carefree over his forehead, bright blue eyes gazing back that showed the pain of many lifetimes, but also held carefully a small part of his boyish innocence. The picture that disturbed her now was the reckless despair that so marked his countenance, the loss of hope in his faded eyes. Why would she suddenly be assaulted with troubling scenes of her brother whose death she finally felt she had come to terms with? She shook her head, rubbing tiredly at her aching temples.  
  
Perhaps it had to do with the loss of another of their best pilots that reminded her of her own loss and how horrible this whole war was. Tycho Celchu hadn't returned from Mascaggani, and they could only helplessly assume he was a prisoner of war or had been killed outright-  
  
"There you are!" A voice called, cutting into her thoughts. Startled, Leia turned around to see Han striding resolutely toward her, a look of quiet relief on his face. "I've been combing the base for you-thought maybe you'd been gobbled by a hungry Krukkar."  
  
He crushed her in a tense embrace and kissed her lightly. Leia pulled back to look him in the eyes. "How did the debriefing go?" she asked.  
  
Solo shook his head with a sort half grimace. "It's probably good you weren't there. Madine nearly took my head off as if I had purposefully lost Celchu to the Imperials." He sighed. "I'll be really glad when this blasted war is over."  
  
Leia squeezed his hand tightly. "You know it wasn't anybody's fault. These things happen with unfortunate regularity. War gets the inexperienced and highly trained. Sometimes it's just the luck of the draw." It got Luke.  
  
He snorted. "Yeah, well why don't you tell that to Alliance high command- they love to make you feel like you've failed everyone."  
  
"I know," she said sympathetically. Madine in particular had a talent for raking people over the coals.  
  
Han seemed to switch gears, his attention shifting to her. "So what has you hiding out watching sunsets all of the sudden?" he asked, looking around at the surroundings as if seeing them for the first time.  
  
Leia raised her eyebrows, attempting to bury her emotions deep down inside. It wasn't a good time to talk about this. "Is there something wrong with taking pleasures in the little things?" She pointed his attention to the soft, fading colors. "Look at how beautiful the sky is tonight."  
  
Han shrugged noncommittally, but Leia could see the slight concern in his eyes as he regarded her once again. "I don't think you're watching the sun set just for the heck of it. I think you're here because something is really bothering you."  
  
She didn't look at him. "Well, that's thoughtful of you to be worried about me," she murmured. "But I'm perfectly fine."  
  
He scowled at her. "You've been upset about something ever since we got back," he informed her. "Maybe you think I don't notice, but I do."  
  
"You're getting overprotective."  
  
Solo looked indignant. "I'm not being overly protective. Just naturally concerned. That is the roll of 'nice men' to be concerned for their wives, isn't it? I guess I'd better start practicing-the wedding is in three days."  
  
She turned to face the fading hues of the sinking sun. "Just because we'll soon be married does not mean I want you to treat me as though I'm about to break. You're almost as bad as Luke was when he-"  
  
She stopped abruptly, biting down on her bottom lip, but the words were already out of her mouth. Leia kept her gaze, suddenly blurring with tears, away from Han, trying not to let them overflow. She was being ridiculous. It was perfectly normal to talk about Luke. She shouldn't have to fall apart at her own mention of his name. Han would really wonder what was wrong with her.  
  
She used to pride herself on her incredible self-control and discipline. At no time-not even when her home planet was destroyed-had she ever permitted herself to cry in front of anyone. Now, it seemed she was sobbing on Han's shoulder not once, but constantly..  
  
A quiet step close to her crunched dry foliage underfoot and two hands settled firmly on her shoulders. "So you still miss your brother," Han said quietly. "That's okay, sweetheart. You can talk about it. Or cry about it, or whatever."  
  
But she didn't think she could talk about this. It was more than just missing him. How could she explain to Han the stark anguish that permeated her every thought of Luke, like his fading voice was crying out to her in a whirlpool of hopelessness while she was watching, powerlessly, as he sank into the blackness.  
  
She took a deep breath and let Han turn her around to face him. All these ideas were probably just her own feverish nightmares, fueled by stress and the lack of sleep. Luke had died in an Imperial shuttle when it had crashed on Endor. Only her tired delusions kept alive a haunting memory of him.  
  
"Leia?" Han asked gently.  
  
"You're right," she whispered, trying to summon a smile, but likely failing miserably. "I do miss him-very much. I wish he were to be at the wedding. I wish I could talk to him. I wish." she smiled, knowing how strange this would sound. "I wish all of us were together again, chatting and laughing over an awful meal of dried out ration bars. Just like old times." She brushed furiously at the tears as they traced a small path down her cheek.  
  
Solo pulled her wordlessly into his arms and she surrendered to his silent comfort, squeezing her eyes shut at the dark, despondent image of her brother blurring in front of her eyes.  
  
********  
  
Luke slumped his shoulders as he stepped into the light-suffused, aroma- laden sanctuary of the Imperial Palace's Botanical Gardens. The dull roar of tumbling water from several fountains was the only sound, the vibrant colors of hundreds of exotic plants covering the conservatory like a wild carpet. He squinted against the bright sunshine permeating the gardens through the large transparisteel panes that formed a huge, glass dome-he could see an entire city resting below in the shadow of this hated place. That thin line of confinement seemed to be the only thing between Luke's captivity in the palace and the tantalizing freedom of a brilliant blue sky and space beyond.  
  
He quickly shut that thought out of his mind, and forced his eyes to look ahead. There would be no more thought of escape, no more longing for freedom. His life was not his own anymore.  
  
Palpatine had made it perfectly clear to him that he must leave all thoughts of his previous life behind and serve the evil ruler without question or hesitation if he intended to save his friends. In the week that they had been on Coruscant, the Emperor took endless delight in putting his apprentice to the test. Luke knew, with a deep, horrified dread, that it was only a matter of time before Palpatine demanded that he do something that would turn the Jedi to the Dark Side forever.  
  
Since their return to Coruscant, constant guards were no longer stationed outside the doors to Luke's quarters. In fact, his quarters were rarely ever locked, and the Emperor had allowed the Jedi almost free roam of the palace. Palpatine knew that he had found a way to hold Luke prisoner far better than any amount of locks or guards could do, and Luke knew it too. The Emperor left him alone with the enticing opportunity to escape, knowing it would be far more tormenting for the Jedi to tighten his captivity by his own free will. Luke's only guard and constant shadow was Palpatine's red-haired assassin who loyally obeyed her master's orders by keeping a close watch on the Jedi despite her avowed dislike of him.  
  
He turned back to the entrance of the gardens and saw her standing there, half shrouded in shadow, watching him. She probably enjoyed this assignment as much as Luke enjoyed being constantly followed by her. He turned back, his eyes following the stone path at his feet. Palpatine seemed to take pleasure in seeing people be miserable-even his most trusted personal agents seemed exempt.  
  
Luke strode slowly past immaculately pruned hedges, trying hard to put these things from his mind, and fill his thoughts with the fragrant beauty around him. He had wandered through these gardens dozens of times already, many hours given to long walks, He supposed these simple strolls would be something of a comfort to him in whatever events that lie dark and waiting for him in his bleak future. He smiled quietly in spite of himself as he passed a small, trickling waterfall. Uncle Owen would have killed for as much water as was bubbling unobtrusively past him.  
  
A quiet step behind him startled Luke out of his reverie. He turned in mild surprise to see Mara Jade approaching, red curls falling over her slender shoulders. Her blaster was in its holster, he saw gratefully. Her expression didn't seem angry, just gauging. Luke tried to offer a wan smile, hoping she would save the verbal lashing. He was tired of fighting with her. "Hello."  
  
She favored him with a small, cynical expression "Don't think I'm here to keep you company, Skywalker, but quite frankly, these little walks of yours are driving me out of my mind with boredom, and I decided to get some exercise."  
  
"Oh," Luke nodded slowly as she fell into step with him. Several minutes languished away in silence, and Luke decided to pretend she wasn't there as he went on observing a bed of brilliant purple flowers, their large blossoms following the visitors as they strode past, like quiet onlookers.  
  
"Do you really enjoy the gardens this much?" Mara asked skeptically. Luke turned guardedly to face her, but surprisingly saw none of the hardened ridicule that she usually regarded him with, only bewilderment that such a place could hold hours of fascination for him.  
  
He shrugged slightly and pointed out, "Well they are pretty." He gestured vaguely to a gushing waterfall. "Where I grew up, water in such large quantities was unheard of, and plant-life whose purpose is solely to look nice was deemed worthless and unnecessary to survival."  
  
She tilted her head. "I know that. I was just curious at your frequent attendance here, and your apparent fascination with these plants. I didn't think you were a farmer."  
  
The tone of her voice caused Luke to glance sharply at her, eyes narrowing. "You know a lot about me," he growled.  
  
She nodded, smiling slightly at his surprise. "It's my job."  
  
Luke turned back to the plants. "Well, you have my admiration for being so loyal to your master that you would complete a task as thoroughly as you did despite your hatred toward me."  
  
She snorted softly. "I didn't complete my task. If I had, you wouldn't be here, and the energy I use up cursing your constant presence would not have been wasted. If I had done my job correctly, I don't think I would've ever given your name another thought."  
  
Luke nodded quietly, staring at the bleached stone path. "Perhaps that would have been better for us both," he agreed.  
  
Mara gave him a sidelong glance, but did not say anything.  
  
Luke took a deep breath and faced tiredly forward again. "I feel I also must congratualate you for winning our bet."  
  
"Our bet?" she echoed with a confused frown.  
  
"Yes," Luke smiled sadly at a waterfall, "Your prediction about Palpatine on the Conquerer. Things resulted exactly as you said they would."  
  
"Oh," Mara said flatly.  
  
"And I guess I should at least be grateful for your words of warning, even if they did go unheeded," Luke finished quietly.  
  
The Emperor's Hand snorted softly, her gaze set stonily ahead. "Save your thanks," she advised him. "I wasn't doing any of it for your sake."  
  
Luke stopped walking and turned from the gardens to meet Mara Jade's cold, green eyes. "Can we call a truce?" he asked.  
  
Those eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"  
  
The Jedi ignored her expression. "I mean I'm tired of constantly squabbling with you. It's true that neither of us can avoid the other, but maybe we could be civilized to each other, do you think?"  
  
"Why are you doing this?" she asked suspiciously. "If you think that we can start being friends just because-"  
  
"I didn't say anything about being friends," Luke cut her off. "All I'm saying is that while the Emperor is making you hang around, at least we can stop this perpetual bickering. Okay?"  
  
She visibly ground her teeth, and it was quite apparent to Luke that she would much rather throw out a biting comment than agree to his offer. But she knew too, he saw, that their fighting was pointless and a waste of energy. He almost imagined he saw a sliver of relief in her eyes that he was the first to suggest such a thing. "Fine," she gritted.  
  
"Let's shake on it," Luke insisted, holding out his hand.  
  
Mara speared him with a chilly glare, but stiffly accepted his handshake.  
  
Luke started walking again, grimly satisfied at his meager accomplishment. "So." he began. "How did you come to be in the Emperor's service?"  
  
She gave him a sidelong glance. "You're horrible at making small talk, you know that Skywalker?"  
  
Luke shrugged. "I haven't had a decent conversation with anyone in a long time. I'm out of practice. Just cut me a little slack, okay?"  
  
Mara didn't reply for a moment, perhaps reigning in another sarcastic remark. Luke watched with idle interest as they passed a gardening droid on the edge of the path, clucking like a mother bird over a bed of green, wet plants in its care. It took no notice of them as they walked by.  
  
When she finally spoke, Mara's voice was thoughtful and distant-entirely different from the derisive tones Luke was accustomed to. "My earliest memories are here," she stated simply. "I have no recollection of a previous life, of a family, parents or siblings-or anything." She shrugged.  
  
Luke smiled sadly, scuffing at the dust on the sandstone floor. "I guess I know how that is. Not to really have a family, I mean," he amended, glancing up at her. "I spent years daydreaming of the heroic father it turned out I never actually had."  
He laughed bitterly. "Little did I know."  
  
She studied him with a strange expression and then turned to kick at some scattered leaves. "Sometimes it can be very lonely," she agreed.  
  
"You've served the Emperor all your life, then," Luke murmured. She nodded. "Have you ever wondered what side you would be on if you were given a choice?"  
  
The air chilled noticeably. "No, I have never wondered," Mara said coldly. "It's not about sides. When Palpatine wants something done, I do it. I'm loyal only to him, not this 'dark side/light side' thing you are so preoccupied with."  
  
"But doesn't it bother you that most of the things he wants you to do are wrong?" Luke insisted.  
  
"Look," Mara stopped and faced him. "I'm ending this discussion right now. This conversation borders on treason, and I know Palpatine has given you ample warning against such things. I also know how much misery I could cause you if I reported it to him."  
  
Luke understood her warning perfectly and his face flushed with dark anger before he doggedly pushed it out of his mind. "I see," he said quietly. "Well, I guess you can think about what I said." He glanced around and realized that this place was becoming tedious and he no longer wanted to be here. "I think I'll be returning to my quarters now."  
  
"Good," Mara looked relieved as Luke turned around to exit the Gardens. "And if you could do me a favor, Skywalker?" she said to his back. "From now on, please find a new place to haunt. I have had enough of the Botanical Gardens to last me several years."  
  
******** 


	16. chapter 16

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The long conference room of the Mon Calamari cruiser was a stark, uninterrupted white. Several dozen pristine white chairs were arranged in immaculate rows towards the head of the room. The room's occupants-all members of the Rebel Alliance who knew Han Solo and Leia Organa-were seated quietly, watching happily as the couple was married.  
  
Standing opposite each other, the infinity of space stretching out behind them through the floor-to-ceiling viewports, the husband-and-wife-to-be gazed into each other's eyes, their fingers twined, most likely oblivious to everyone else in the room.  
  
General Rieekan, wearing a crisp white uniform, his hair neatly combed, stood in front of them. "Do you, Han Solo, take Leia to be your lawfully wedded wife as long as you both shall live?" He asked, glancing up from a small book he held in his hand.  
  
The former smuggler grinned, realizing that he probably looked like a soppy lovebird. Chewie would never let him live it down. But Solo didn't care. Who could have imagined that he would have gone from being some low-life, self-serving scum, to a man with a cause, friends, a belonging place, and most importantly, a beautiful wife whom he loved with all his heart. "Yes," he nodded, staring into Leia's dark brown eyes. They were sparkling with happy tears. "I do."  
  
"And do you, Leia Organa, take Han to be your lawfully wedded husband as long as you both shall live?"  
  
She nodded. "I do."  
  
"Then," Rieekan smiled, "I now declare you husband and wife." He nodded to Han. "You may kiss the bride."  
  
As Han drew his new wife into a long kiss, a whooping cheer from one of the pilots set the whole room into a ripple of happy laughter, which turned into roaring applause. Leia's face turned crimson, but she smiled at the crowd, Han's hand still gripping hers tightly.  
  
The cheering onlookers followed the newly married couple to the main hangar bay, where, like a hodgepodge of bolts, the FALCON was humming and ready to go. Solo lifted a hand in farewell to the Rebels as he and Leia boarded the ship and the ramp sealed behind them.  
  
"Off we go, Chewie!" Han called to the Wookiee in the cockpit. Because of security reasons, the FALCON would only be gone for the day, but they had planned to make the most out of it-braving the wild animals to tour various parts of the luscious, green planet, packing a picnic lunch to eat on the rocks underneath the waterfalls. He leaned down to kiss a smiling Leia. "Sweetheart," he murmured, "our honeymoon has officially begun."  
  
**************  
  
The moment Luke had been dreading had finally arrived.  
  
He was awakened, in the dead of Coruscant's night, city lights blinking silently outside his window, airspeeders zooming every which way, despite the hour, but he took no notice as his heart thudded with a very vivid premonition of danger.  
  
Slipping cautiously out of bed, senses extended, he detected a flurry of activity several floors down. Four stormtroopers, preceded by a grim but determined Mara Jade, were heading, at Palpatine's spur-of-the-moment bidding, swiftly up to his quarters.  
  
Luke sat on the edge of the bed, shivering in spite of the warm air of the room. It was so very like Palpatine to spring his trap swiftly and unexpectedly. He felt numb as he briefly thought of Han and Leia. Would they ever know what he had done for their sake-what he had given up for their happiness and well being? Or would they only hate him for the enemy that he had become to them? For he had little doubt in his mind that the Emperor would succeed in twisting his powers and his loyalty into something completely unidentifiable, completely evil. To this, Luke had knowingly promised to submit, in order to save his friends. He hadn't been so delusional that he thought the time would never come, but had anticipated it with a dark, gnawing dread.  
  
How might he view the universe in the days to come? He wondered. Would he see it only as opportunities for insatiable greed and power? Darkness and personal gain?  
  
Hollowly, silently, he apologized to Yoda and Obi-wan. *I have failed you all.* He thought despairingly. *But this is the only way.*  
  
Coldly, committing his last moments to memory, Luke swiftly donned a dark gray tunic and his black boots. They were almost to his door.  
  
As he passed the bureau mirror and his darkened reflection flitted by, he wondered again how the horrors of the Dark Side would change him forever.  
  
Stars, he did not want to turn!  
  
Then, without any forewarning, the large wooden doors to his quarters flew open, and Mara stood there, two alert stormtrooper guards standing behind her. "The Emperor wants you to come now, Skywalker," she informed him without any preamble. Her voice was emotionless, flat. She did not meet his eyes.  
  
Luke cast a final glance at the glittering stars outside his window, hovering as they did over the dazzling cityscape.  
  
Then he turned to meet his fate.  
  
**********  
  
The throne room was shrouded in darkness. The eerie blue glow of some sort of hidden lamps offered the only illumination, casting long, moving shadows across the bleached stone. Luke entered hesitantly, and a stormtrooper blaster prodded him forward.  
  
There was a familiar, bone-chilling chuckle from the depths of the shadows. With a suddenness that startled him, searing bright light flooded the cavernous room. "At last, we can begin," the voice laughed.  
  
Luke squinted up at the dark figure standing at the head of the steps, trying to shut out the maniacal laughter. "Come," Palpatine beckoned Luke with a gnarled hand. "Come, my young apprentice." Reluctantly, the Jedi started forward, realizing that sometime in his preoccupation, his escorts had departed. He tried to set aside the cold dread in his stomach and the perpetual tingling shout of danger that seemed to make his ears ring, but the feeling only worsened.  
  
"I have an assignment for you to complete, boy," the Emperor told him. Luke made his feet to continue plodding forward. "The purpose is two-fold. And since you are a part of my Empire now, you must begin carrying out important Imperial tasks."  
  
Luke reached the steps below the Emperor when Palpatine suddenly gestured ominously to the doors that he had come through. The Jedi turned, and watched as they opened. The four stormtroopers entered, this time with someone being dragged between them, hands shackled, hair disheveled. When he saw that the prisoner was clothed in a very familiar orange flight suit, Luke went cold.  
  
The warning shout of danger in his mind was unmistakable now, but he could only watch, frozen, as the prisoner, who was obviously a Rebel pilot was dumped at his feet. Tycho Celchu raised his head in an expression of willful defiance that Luke recognized well as one that had been his own for endless weeks. As the Rebel's eyes took in the Jedi Knight before him, his expression turned to shock, and then disbelief. "Luke Skywalker?" he murmured.  
  
Luke could only nod, leaden fear twisting in his stomach, his mind spinning sickeningly. What was going on here?  
  
Somehow, despite his shackles, Tycho was climbing to his feet. "What are you doing here?" he cried. "You know the Rebellion thinks you're dead? Are you a prisoner here too?" Luke barely nodded. "They aren't going to do something sick like make us fight each other, are they?" Tycho asked, jerking his head to look around the room and suddenly stopping cold when he saw Palpatine's shadowy figure standing like a shrouded statue.  
  
Luke saw the Rebel's earnest mannerisms of a fellow pilot abruptly leave his features, replaced by his previous expression of cold defiance, but with something far more dangerous underneath the surface. His shoulders straightened noticeably and his eyes narrowed. "Well," he said softly, his tone suddenly quiet and on edge. "If it isn't the Tyrant himself."  
  
Like an inanimate demon coming to life, Palpatine took a step forward with a grotesque cackle. "Of course we also enjoy the pleasure of your company, however short it may be," he returned affably, chuckling again.  
  
"Why you son of slime-ridden-"  
  
"And of course you already know my young apprentice," The Emperor cut him off smoothly, gesturing to Luke. "Perhaps his presence gives you a sense of false security because you think he is on your side, when the reality is that he serves the Empire now. He serves me."  
  
With a faltering step, Tycho reeled back to turn his darkly scrutinizing gaze on the Jedi. Luke opened his mouth to protest, and then clamped it shut again. He couldn't speak. Palpatine was right-he did serve the Empire. Whether by choice or not wasn't significant anymore because he knew that he would never again be able to return to the Rebel Alliance. He tried to push down the familiar ache that the reminder gave him, tried to dispel the image of a friend's immediate distrust in him.  
  
"We have brought you here to try you and execute you for the despicable traitor that you are." The Emperor informed the pilot pleasantly.  
  
Tycho only looked more defiant. "Well, at least I shall not die as a cowardly-"  
  
"My young apprentice?" Palpatine ignored the Rebel, turning to Luke, and the Jedi saw that the polished metal cylinder of his own lightsaber rested in the ruler's hand. The Emperor was holding the weapon out to him-waiting for him to take it, to perform this "execution".  
  
Luke swallowed. The noose of the Dark Side was about to be yanked taut once and for all. Perpetrated by Luke's own actions. He had known it was going to happen. Palpatine was ordering him to murder a friend in order to save his friends.  
  
The room was silent, waiting. The Emperor was watching him with delighted interest. Tycho was eyeing him without fear, only hardened anger. The four stormtroopers stood watching, their blank, plasteel faces and dark polished eyes boring into the Jedi. Standing inconspicuously near the door, arms folded, Mara Jade watched, a dark, scrutinizing frown of marring her chiseled features. Luke felt nausea churn in his stomach. He didn't think he could do this. With all his heart, he did not want to do this.  
  
"Take the lightsaber," Palpatine told him coldly. "I'll remind you that obeying or disobeying my orders will not do anything to save this man's life, for he is a traitor to the Empire and that warrants his immediate execution, but your cooperation will have something to do with ensuring the continuing well-being of your friends. Or need I remind you of the conditions of our agreement?" He asked.  
  
Luke shook his head, feeling that the world seemed to be closing in around him. He mechanically took the weapon from Palpatine's tainted hand and it rested like lead in his cold fingers. Slowly, he turned the lightsaber around, examining the ridges of its metal grip, the familiar workmanship that was his own. He was stalling for time.  
  
"You seemed to have misplaced the activation button, boy," The Emperor said, beginning to get impatient. Luke's head snapped up to look at the evil ruler and back at the lightsaber, then to Palpatine again. He felt dizzy as his thumb slipped over the small red button. With a snap-hiss, the green blade extended, humming and crackling in the waiting silence. He was to execute a man-a friend-in cold blood with this weapon. *It is the weapon of the Jedi Knights* Obi-wan had told him on the first day, ages ago, when he had met the old hermit.  
  
*The Jedi Knights.*  
  
*I am a Jedi Knight* he thought, feeling lightheaded. Raising the weapon higher, he saw Tycho's hard, unforgiving gaze staring unwaveringly back at him; a traitor. Luke forced himself not to flinch from the angered emotions of a former friend. For soon, the pilot's hatred would be justified and the Jedi would be the very object of loathing that Tycho now thought him to be. Yoda's voice echoed in his turbulent mind. *Beware of the Dark Side.*  
  
Luke shut his eyes. How many times had he been cautioned, berated, and warned against the dangers and consequences of the Dark Side? Apparently, their effort had been for naught. *But what else can I do?* He thought desperately to the nagging voice of conscience in his mind. *Han and Leia will be killed because of me.*  
  
*You are a Jedi Knight*, the voice reminded him again.  
  
*Jedi Knight*.  
  
*Jedi Knight.*  
  
The next thing Luke was aware of was feeling like a bucket of icy water had been poured over his head, and he back-stepped, his lightsaber dropping from his lifeless fingers with a solid clunk as it hit the floor. He realized he was shaking his head.  
  
"No," he whispered, and then in a louder voice, "No!"  
  
The room was as still as death. Luke took another step back. His hands were suddenly trembling and he felt weak in the knees, feeling that any moment he might sink limply to the floor.  
  
"What kind of monster do you think I am?" he cried to Palptine in rising fury and desperation. "I can't do this-I won't do this!"  
  
There was a dangerous silence that filled the room with the Jedi's words. The tension was like a tight string about to snap. But Luke could only hear the thunderous pounding of his own heart echoing in his ears.  
  
Palpatine kept his searing, putrid gaze on Luke, and time seemed to stretch like hot molasses, the Jedi wondering distantly if perhaps his life would end here and now under the fury of the Emperor's white-hot rage.  
  
"So be it," Palpatine said finally, not sparing Luke another glance as he gestured to the stormtroopers, their weapons drawn and pointed towards Tycho.  
  
"Kill him," he said simply.  
  
"No!" Luke cried, not thinking as he dove towards the Rebel pilot, his mind racing with the insane idea that he could repel the blaster shots, save the life that he had come so close to ending himself. Perhaps he could stop this crazed nightmare that his life seemed to be unfurling. He had to do something. But the ripping puncture of blaster fire reverberated in Luke's ears and he saw Tycho jerk back with the force of the shot and collapse into a lifeless heap to the rough stone floor. A split second later, the searing pain of the familiar blue energy from the Emperor's Force- lightening tore through Luke, drilling him to the ground with a muted cry.  
  
The stone was cold and hard. Ignoring the pain, he dug his fingernails into a shallow crack, trying to find the leverage to get up. He could no longer detect Tycho's presence in the Force, and knew, with bile welling in his throat, that the pilot must be dead. Luke rolled drunkenly, crawling painfully to his elbows and knees, trying to stop the world from careening dizzily around him, and realized that Palpatine was standing over him, gnarled cane digging into the floor.  
  
"At least I must commend you on your stubbornness," the Emperor commented quietly. "It's unfortunate that it will cost you the lives of your friends. But first, we have a matter to take up concerning your disobedience to me. Jade?" he called. Luke's eyes were shut, his forehead pressing into the rough-hewn stone, but he heard Mara's voice somewhere nearby.  
  
"Yes, my master?"  
  
The Jedi could feel Palpatine's eyes boring into the back of his head as the evil ruler replied. "Escort Skywalker down to sublevel 12," he told her. "They will be expecting him."  
  
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	17. chapter 17

Thank you so much for your reviews-they motivate me to keep writing. ( Here's another chapter for you all. Enjoy!  
  
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Mara Jade kept her blaster held loosely in her hand, mostly for show, as she gestured for Skywalker, his hands shackled in front of him, to precede her into the turbolift. He walked inside, thin shoulders stooped in weariness and defeat, not turning around to face Mara as she poked several buttons that would send the turbolift rocketing down to the sub-level sections of the palace.  
  
The doors slid shut, the transport jolting slightly and Mara's heart thumped quietly in a strange sort of dread. She knew what awaited Skywalker in the dark, underground dungeons of sub-level 12. She'd been the unfortunate servant that had been assigned to escort many a prisoner there in the past, and she'd rarely seen any of them return. But as gruesome as she knew that section of the palace to be, she had never felt such a pounding, eerie, foreboding feeling as she did now. It made her feel nauseous.  
  
She cast a sidelong glance at Skywalker and without really thinking, blurted, "Well was this worth it to you?"  
  
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she immediately regretted saying them. The Jedi spun towards her, his hand flailing against the wall for support, his face the color of wet ash, a fiery and bitter retort in his eyes. But suddenly, the wall of his anger seemed to collapse in on itself, the pain and self-hatred in his eyes laid bare for Mara to see.  
  
"I've failed them," he whispered to her, like the words were hitting him with a shocking blow for the first time. "I've failed."  
  
Something inside Mara ached with his words, and she could feel his despair numbing her mind. She looked away from the agonized depths of the Jedi's blue eyes.  
  
The turbolift ground to a halt with a brief flicker of lights. They had arrived.  
  
Mara reached for the switch that would open the doors, but before her fingers groped for the button, she hesitantly turned back to Skywalker, strangely suddenly wanting to comfort him, tell him that things would be okay--ridiculously guide him to an escape from this awful place--but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a quiet, "I'm sorry."  
  
The doors hissed open.  
  
The dank, darkened world of the sub-levels reeked with death and pain, and Mara wondered vaguely how she had not been able to notice it so violently strong before. With a slight grimace, she prodded Skywalker forward down the dark, narrow corridor, directing him into a small, dimly lit room.  
  
Two large, vicious-looking droids waited at the entry. Mara cringed involuntarily as one of them clamped a vise-like appendage on Luke's arm, pulling the unresisting Jedi toward the man-length table in the center of the room.  
  
"Well, if it isn't Mara Jade," said a voice behind her, almost making her jump. She counted to three before turning around to see "Dr." Rhomsteth standing behind her, offering an oily smile. Mara grimaced inwardly. She'd never liked Rhomsteth, the head of Operations here on sub-level 12. Every time the man looked at her, a sickening, crawly feeling clawed at the base of her spine. "How are you today, Miss Jade?"  
  
"My title is the Emperor's Hand, Rhomsteth," Mara growled, ignoring his question.  
  
"And I believe mine is doctor," he reminded her, his expression suddenly cold.  
  
He was no more a doctor than was a child tormenting a small animal, Mara thought in contempt. She ignored his statement and got down to business. "The Emperor sent him down here." She gestured to Luke as the droids stood on both sides of the table, flicking transparisteel binders over his wrists and ankles with practiced ease. The Jedi's gaze was directed at a blank metal wall, empty and lifeless.  
  
"So I've been informed," Rhomsteth nodded, a repulsive sort of half-smile on his face as he eyed his newest victim. Mara resisted the urge to yank her blaster free of its holster and shoot the man dead.  
  
"Yes," she said quietly, almost trying to draw his attention way from Luke. "Palpatine does not want him to be permanently damaged." She paused. "Can you do that?"  
  
"My dear," Rhomsteth chuckled, a patronizing smile distorting his ugly face. "You keep to your job and I'll keep to mine."  
  
Mara glared.  
  
"Well," he said, clapping his hands together and strutting toward the table on which Skywalker lay, wide-eyed, blank despair emanating from him. "Shall we get started?"  
  
One of the droids held a needle up to the light, probably assuring that the Jedi could get a good look at it, before slipping it quickly into a prominent vein in Luke's arm. Skywalker barely flinched. The droid pulled an IV pole closer to the cold table as it dripped some sort of vile bluish liquid into the Jedi's veins. It took only moments for the faint color of Luke's features to turn into a deathly shade of white. His fingers gripped the edge of his restraints, tight and colorless and he looked as though he might throw up. Mara silently cheered for him to aim for Rhomsteth's black, polished boots.  
  
Rhomsteth peered over the Jedi with a patient little smile. "Hello," he greeted Luke. "Welcome to sub-level 12. I hope you survive your stay here, since for some reason, the Emperor wants you to be kept alive. But I suppose that will just make things a little bit more interesting for me, won't it?"  
  
The Jedi's features tightened in obvious pain, but he seemed stubborn enough to try not to show it. Mara could see his hands were shaking.  
  
"Well, now, I'm very impressed," Rhomsteth murmured, the tone of his voice indicating that he was anything but impressed. "I guess we shall see how long your silence will last."  
  
Mara was suddenly unable to watch Skywalker's features, contorted in pain. She felt powerless and ill. She turned her head, letting her gaze settle on the dark, musty corners of the room, trying to dispel his suffering image from her mind.  
  
There was a pain-filled gasp that erupted into a weak cry before Skywalker could clamp his mouth shut. Rhomsteth's amused chuckle grated on Mara's ears.  
  
Behind her, the room's door hissed open, and, grateful for a distraction, she turned. With a billow of dark robes, the Emperor entered. "How is our young Jedi coming along?" he asked Rhomsteth. Without waiting for a reply, he billowed in like the draft of a cold wind, and leaned over Skywalker. Luke was lying flat against the table, eyes unfocused, his breathing coming in sporadic gasps.  
  
"Your pilot friend is dead," Palpatine told him gleefully. "Had you cooperated, your entire Rebellion would not now be facing extermination, and you, my young, foolish friend, would be living a life of comfort and luxury instead of the one of pain and misery that now faces you."  
  
Skywalker's hands balled into tight fists, pulling uselessly at his bonds. Palpatine laughed. "I shall truly enjoy breaking your pig-headed stubbornness. But all in good time, of course." He turned to Rhomsteth. "My apologies for interrupting you. Please continue."  
  
The Emperor stepped back, looking like a spectator observing a championship smashball game and his hunched, dark form blocked Skywalker from Mara's view. She slid back against the dank wall, almost feeling relieved that she couldn't see him anymore.  
  
What sort of power did Skywalker hold over her that could turn her, Mara Jade, the Emperor's hand, into a spineless, fearful, overprotective weakling? She didn't know why she should care what happened to the Jedi, why she should be so concerned for his welfare, so preoccupied with his mannerisms, ideas and convictions. She had been raised never to show weakness and once upon a time, she had succeeded in fulfilling her missions and making Palpatine happy with her. But since then, this blasted Jedi had come along and wrecked her life--destroyed her ideas and philosophies-- simply by his very presence. Mara shook her head. The maddening thing was that she couldn't bring herself to hate him, or even dislike him any longer.  
  
The Jedi cried out weakly, moaning something unintelligible. He was answered only by Palpatine's cruel cackle of laughter. There was another scream, louder, and more intense than the first. Involuntarily, Mara bit down on her bottom lip, trying to shut it out. She could hear Luke's voice, half-sobbing as he shouted something before his words exploded into another cry of pain.  
  
"Stop!" he cried now, shuddering sobs wracking his body. Mara flinched, still seeing in her mind's eye, the Jedi atop the cold metal table, tightly gripping the edges of the restraints. Yes, at one time she had hated him, had wanted to kill him. But now, she only felt a deep sense of genuine hurt for him. What has he done to deserve this? She wondered helplessly. "Please stop!" he pleaded again, another cry of pain escaping his throat.  
  
Mara's heart was pounding. She could not listen to any more.  
  
Before she knew what she was doing, her feet were propelling her forward, out of that evil torture room and down the glaring corridors.  
  
In the wake of the gut-wrenching screams of the Jedi Knight behind her, Mara Jade fled.  
  
****  
  
Leia Organa Solo was suddenly awakened from a deep, restless sleep by the sound of her own screams. There was darkness all around her and pain and death..  
  
Someone had a solid grip on her upper arms and was shaking her. Voices echoed cavernously in her ears, drowning out her own terrified cries. She was cold and trembling, and--  
  
"Leia!"  
  
She opened her eyes and realized where she was. Han's face was mere inches away from hers, hair tousled, eyes dark with concern. He wore a dark linen shirt, his strong hands still gripping her arms so tightly that it hurt. Leia blinked.  
  
A sheen of cold perspiration on her forehead and face, combined with the residue of sticky, hot tears let several strands of her dark hair to be plastered to her skin. The bed sheets were twisted around her, the pillow damp from her crying.  
  
Han reached up to brush her hair away from her face. "Are you all right?"  
  
Leia shivered in her dampened nightgown, the images assaulting her mind afresh. "It was Luke," she whispered. "I had this horrible dream about Luke. Evil people were hurting him--they were hurting him." She tried to shake the pictures from her mind, but didn't quite succeed. It was too vivid, too real.  
  
"It's all right," Han assured her quietly, pulling her close, partly to comfort her, and partly in relief that she was okay. "It was just a dream."  
  
***************  
  
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	18. chapter 18

**  
  
It was finally dawn.  
  
Mara had rarely felt so relieved to see Coruscant's wan sunrise wash buttery light over the endless horizon of skyscrapers that was the city- planet. It filtered hazily through the palace's large windows-in staterooms and grand corridors alike-and the sunshine felt soothing and cleansing, scaring away the shadows of the night's horrors.  
  
With some small regret, she passed a large, transparisteel window, overlooking the apricot-colored sunrise, and then stepped into the waiting turbolift-ignoring her flanking escort of two stormtroopers as they followed-preparing once again to descend into the gloomy depths of the palace.  
  
After her impromptu flight from the sub-levels early that morning, Palpatine had chided her on being so squeamish and had ordered that she return to the underground dungeons of the palace-probably to teach her a lesson-and retrieve the broken Jedi from the dripping, molding cell where he'd been so casually tossed after hours of being tortured. It wasn't exactly a chore she was looking forward to, but she supposed that was why the Emperor had ordered that she do it.  
  
The turbolift braked to an abrupt halt with an ominous jarring sound and Mara steeled herself as the doors opened like jaws to the darkened recesses beyond.  
  
As they entered sub-level 12 again, her ears unconsciously strained against the cloying silence, but she heard nothing. Dim lights overhead marked the narrow corridor that branched out in front of them, and reluctantly, Mara started forward. She winced at the damp, fetid odor that seemed to permeate the very walls. Sub-level 12 was the bottommost level of the Imperial palace, a hole dug deep underground in a world that built higher and higher toward the sky, piling more and more new layers on top of the old and decaying. Even as Mara continued, she noticed the barely perceptible downward sloping of the floor and the thin rivulets of water trickling down the rusty, corrugated metal walls. The level's considerable depth underground and the seeping water, down walls and ceilings, contributed to the uncomfortably damp chill that pervaded the air like a dark cloud.  
  
They reached the prison cellblocks, an old, rusted A-1YT protocol droid waiting patiently behind what might pass as a desk. Behind the droid, an old-fashioned grille-work of durasteel bars blocked the corridor.  
  
"Good morning," the droid greeted them pleasantly, one yellow eye gazing unblinkingly back at them. "May I see your ID?"  
  
Mara casually tossed the plastene card onto the desk for the droid's inspection. The robot scanned it briefly, then returned it to her. It reached a slender-jointed limb to the inset keypad and punched a series of numbers. With a rusty, metal clang and the whir of strained mechanics, the wall of bars parted like a curtain. "The prisoner is in cell A-25."  
  
Mara turned to the two stormtroopers. "Stay here," she ordered.  
  
It took little trouble locating Skywalker's cell. She swept her ID underneath the door's small scanner, slapping the illumination switch as she did so. With a hiss of repulsors, the door opened and white, glaring light suddenly flooded from the small cell, stabbing her eyes with pain.  
  
As soon as the dark spots disappeared from her vision, she cringed inwardly at the sight in front of her: Skywalker lay like a broken puppet against the corner, unconscious. Bruises and deep lacerations marred his boyish features and stained much of his torn and shredded tunic the dark crimson of dried blood.  
  
Carefully, Mara knelt at his side, seeing that the dented, tarnished durasteel of the floor was also streaked with blood. Beads of perspiration marked the Jedi's waxen skin and she did not like the way he was breathing.  
  
Cautiously, she reached out to lightly touch his forehead when Luke suddenly jumped as if struck, gasping to full consciousness. His blue eyes, drunk with pain, speared her with an expression of bright fear as his hands flew up to push her away.  
  
"Skywalker!" She pinned his arms down as easily as she would a child. "Hey! It's just me. Hey!" But that brief struggle seemed to be all he had the strength for, she decided, as he fell limply against the floor again, eyes closed.  
  
For a moment, Mara thought he was unconscious again, but then, with some obvious effort, his bruised lips tried to form words until his voice cooperated in the form of a faint whisper. "What do you want?"  
  
She put her hand to his forehead again, this time with only a suppressed wince from the Jedi. His skin was cool and clammy. "It's moving day, Skywalker," she murmured, pursing her lips. "Palpatine wants you aboard the Conqueror in twenty minutes." She surveyed his battered form. "If you can walk, you won't have to be dragged by these thugs that are waiting for you just down the hall."  
  
Skywalker barely shook his head. "I can't walk."  
  
"Can you sit up?"  
  
The Jedi clenched his teeth, eyeing her like a wounded animal watching its attacker. "Maybe," he whispered.  
  
Mara moved forward to help him, accidentally bumping into his left leg. Luke only gasped in a silent scream, arching forward on the floor.  
  
"Don't touch my leg," he gasped when he could speak again. "Whatever you do, just don't touch it."  
  
Mara stiffened, noticing his leg for the first time, realizing that underneath the dark gray material of his tunic's pant-leg, the limb was twisted in a way it aught not to have turned. "What did they do to you?" she gasped.  
  
"What do you think?" Luke shot back hoarsely, his jaw still clenched in pain as he sagged back against the floor, eyes shut. "They broke it."  
  
Reluctantly, she tore her eyes away and focused on his face; the damp strands of hair plastered to his forehead, the fist-sized bruise forming near his left eye and the side of his head, his strained breathing. "Believe me when I say I'm truly sorry to do this to you," she murmured. "But we have to leave. Either you let me help you, or someone else is going to drag you."  
  
He didn't open his eyes. "And where are we going this time?"  
  
He didn't say it, Mara thought, but he could have. The Jedi knight seemed to pose as nothing but a threat to thousands of good, innocent people just by being alive, just by possessing the power of the Force. The Emperor was no fool. He knew just how to make the young man miserable. And Luke knew it too.  
  
"To a small world called Tangrenenarr," she said quietly. "Out on the rim. Have you ever heard of it?"  
  
Judging by the way his face went rigid with recognition, she saw grimly, he had. All signs of life blanched from his features, his distressed breathing the only thing that proved he was still alive. His voice was a single, unrecognizable moan. "No," he whispered, almost to himself, the familiar blank gaze of despair returning to his features. "Oh no."  
  
Well, if she had needed any proof as to the possible whereabouts of the hidden Rebel base, that certainly clinched it, Mara thought grimly, feeling a hollow knot form in the pit of her stomach. "Skywalker, you have to get up," she told him again, helping him, as gently as she could, to a more-or- less sitting position.  
  
"No," Luke whispered again, his features contorting in pain as she- faltering under his deadweight-tried to help him stand. Mara wondered momentarily if he was protesting the move or her revelation about his friends' likely fates. "Please."  
  
His head fell limply on her shoulder, his breath hot on her cheek. Mara staggered, mindful of his injured left leg, not wanting to drop her burden. A moment later, she realized that her caution was wasted: The Jedi was unconscious again.  
  
From the corridor came the sound of clanking boots, and she realized it must be the stormtroopers coming to her aid. Heaven knew she needed it, she thought, feeling her face warm slightly. She twisted toward the door, waiting for them to reach her, when she realized belatedly that the hissing sound of the breather and the heavy footsteps were not those of a stormtrooper. They could only belong to one person.  
  
Darth Vader entered the small cell like a shadow, stopping as he came upon Mara who was still struggling to hoist the unconscious Jedi. She only stared back at his polished, black eyes, wondering what he was thinking. She should feel like a fool, she reasoned; standing in front of the Dark Lord like a tenth-rate servant hoisting a battered prisoner, but something in Vader's stance indicated that he somehow understood.  
  
Wordlessly, the Dark Lord stepped forward, carefully hoisting the Jedi up and cradling him like a doll. Mara regained her balance, her muscles trembling in relief, and she just stared. Had Vader suddenly gone soft?  
  
"Wha-why are you doing this?" she whispered.  
  
The Dark Lord turned toward the open door, Luke lying limply in his arms.  
  
"Because," he said quietly, turning away from her toward the door. "He's my son."  
  
************* 


	19. Chapter 19

Wow! Now that was a lot of reviews! Thanks so much! In reply to some of your comments...yes the Luke parts are probably much more interesting than the H/L parts. This story IS about Luke, after all. I hope the suspense is building up..and hints? Would I give hints? Nevah!  
  
Enjoy!  
  
***** ************  
  
The Conquerer had come out of hyperspace on the dark side of Tangrenenarr, well out of range of the Rebels' primitive ground sensors and of the lazy circle of drifting tugboats the Rebellion had the nerve of referring to as battleships as they patrolled the immediate space around Alliance HQ. But they were close enough for Mara to see clearly the small planet, a mottled swirl of browns and blues, hanging serenely in space. Her eyes dropped to the detailed readouts on the console in front of her. The scanners had already charted the planet, and had pinpointed the exact location of the Rebel base along with any shield generators, nests of weapons installations or backup ships that might also be hidden neatly away.  
  
She thought of the rag-tag force of Rebels, down on the surface, unaware of the coming attack, knowing they probably didn't have much of a chance against the collective might of the Imperial army. Once upon a time, this fact wouldn't have caused her to lose sleep, but now, the coming slaughter and the impending casualties kept returning to her mind with a twinge of.what? Guilt?  
  
Mara quickly brushed the feeling away. Bad things happened to people that ended up on the wrong side of the war. There wasn't anything personal or amoral about standing in the background--doing her job--as the Emperor exterminated this seditious band of people who persisted in defying his power. Skywalker's talk of 'sides' was getting to her again.  
  
"I believe it is time," the Emperor's voice broke her out of her reverie. Lost in her thoughts, Mara had almost forgotten that she stood next to Palpatine's large, ornate throne, the huge chamber no longer the scrappy collection of Star Destroyer odds and ends of a room hastily thrown together, but a full-fledged command center with its Emperor at the head. She quickly berated herself for her inattentiveness and forced herself to turn and look her Emperor in the eyes. Those eyes narrowed and she knew he could see right through her. "It's time," he repeated.  
  
"Yes Master," she nodded. Vader stood motionless in the background, his stance unreadable, his expression hidden.  
  
Palpatine leaned over the arm of his throne, casually flicking a switch. "Commander," he ordered, a gleeful smile playing on his lips. "Launch the first wave of the attack."  
  
*********  
  
Han Solo was striding so swiftly down the narrow corridor of the main Rebel bunker, that he almost kicked an oncoming mouse droid into the far wall. With a terrified squeal, the droid barely avoided being stepped on by the oblivious general as he barreled through.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Solo demanded loudly into the small comlink gripped tightly in his fist. "We all know how many times those things malfunction--those perimeter fences are supposed to be guarded constantly."  
  
There was a tinny, indignant reply and Han gritted his teeth. He was not having a very good day as it was, so this hotshot rebel had better know not to push it. "What are your boys doing? Sleeping on the job? Those things make more noise than a--What do you mean it's not your fault?" He snapped. "As their commander, you take responsibility for--" Another faint protest cut him off.  
  
Han grit his teeth again, restraining several choice curses from escaping his lips. "I'll be right there," he growled, hoping his statement sounded more like a threat than a promise.  
  
He lowered his hand to his side and reversed his course to stalk off in the direction of the speeders.  
  
***********  
  
Comforting words about resting and healing echoed cavernously in Luke's mind as he slowly climbed the long tunnel to wakefulness. His eyes stubbornly did not want to open, and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. His tired, befuddled mind tried to make sense of the soft texture of a pillow against his bruised cheek, the weight of the blankets comfortingly holding him against the soft cloud that was a bed, the deep throb of machinery that was a gentle pulsating background sound. He felt like he was floating. His whole body felt numb. Numb was good, he reminded himself quickly. It meant there was no pain.  
  
He had never been in a healing trance before.  
  
Luke recalled groggily being sick with pain and despair as someone gently carried him to a bed days--weeks? Months?--before. That must have been a dream, of course. It was probably *all* a dream--the delirious fantasies of a tired, pain-wracked soul. He remembered crying out to someone-anyone-- and had been too miserable to be surprised when the comforting apparition of Ben Kenobi appeared like a mirage before his eyes.  
  
*Rest. Heal.* The old man had instructed gently. *You will need your strength.*  
  
The Jedi had cried that he did not want his strength. He did not want to see any more horror or be the cause of any more misery for anyone. All he wanted was to sink into oblivion and never wake up again.  
  
During his training on Dagobah, he'd been instructed by Yoda in specific detail on how to go into a healing trance, but he'd never actually had the occasion to apply the skill. He'd had no idea if it would even work, and found he hardly cared if it did or not, but Kenobi's voice, calming, like a mantra, implored him simply to rest.  
  
And now.Luke lifted his arm to the level of his eyes, seeing the tattered sleeve of his tunic, but that the abrasions underneath had healed. He felt stiff and slightly sore, but other than that, it did not really hurt to move. Encouraged, he slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, sleep-bleary eyes cautiously taking in his surroundings with the vague dread of recognition.  
  
He was in a small, but comfortably furnished room, a marked difference from the cold, damp cell he'd inhabited--albeit somewhat hazily--in the bowels of the Imperial palace. He recognized the dark outlines of several articles of furniture, and knew that the heavy, ornate drapes on the far wall shrouded the expansive viewport.  
  
He was in his quarters on the Star Destroyer.  
  
Luke turned his head from the window, grateful for the gloom of the shrouding curtains so that he did not have to see what was out there. He did not want to see a planet razed by fire and destruction. He did not want to stand helplessly by and watch as friends were annihilated before his very eyes.  
  
Guilt and nausea churned his stomach. Forcefully, Luke choked it down. He felt dizzy as his still-booted feet brushed the soft pile carpet of the floor.  
  
He could feel his left leg now and it hurt. The bone seemed to throb with every pounding beat of his heart. More painfully, he could feel Leia's distant, but unmistakable presence in the back of his mind, the warmth of her thoughts filling a hole in his heart that he hadn't even realized was there. He felt a forgotten and familiar ache, a longing to be again near the people he loved, but then he sharply reprimanded himself for being so selfish. A lump formed in his throat. To be with them again was, of course, impossible. He would only cause them more pain.  
  
With willpower that surprised even himself, Luke barricaded the presence of his sister from his mind. Her knowledge of him would only hurt her further. She would never learn that he was still alive. It would be for the best.  
  
His mind was made up now.  
  
Obi-wan had told him he would need his strength. The caustic part of Luke's pain-drunk mind had laughed bitterly. He was tired, his resolve exhausted and broken, all his hopes and dreams for his entire life lay shattered at his feet. He had not wanted to go on.  
  
But now, his thoughts tumbled over like a maelstrom, the faintest hope shining through the gloom that perhaps something could be salvaged from the wreck. In light of all the mistakes he had made, all the people he had hurt, maybe he could stop this from going any further.  
  
It all depended on him.  
  
Luke staggered to his feet, not letting himself acknowledge the stabbing pain in his leg as he put weight on it. He still wasn't completely healed, but his time to act was now-he'd deal with the consequences of overexertion later.  
  
Carefully, he limped toward the door.  
  
*************  
  
"Leia, are you there?" Han's voice came over the small speaker at her elbow.  
  
"Right here," she responded, seating herself in front of the cluttered console and shoving a datapad, a half-filled mug of caff, and several datadisks out of her way. "I hope you know what's going on--all the sensors on that entire side of the base are out. Madine is--"  
  
General Madine was suddenly hovering over her shoulder. "Solo?" he demanded gruffly. "What have you found?"  
  
"Well, everything over here is a mess," Han reported grimly. "A pack of about thirty Krukkars attacked the generator station, just about tearing it to shreds. Of course it doesn't work any more," he added sourly. "At any rate, we have a team up here on alert, shooting any beast that's stupid enough to show its snout, but we need a maintenance crew up to--" His voice was suddenly extinguished with a burst of static from the speaker.  
  
"Han?" Leia called, toggling the switch. She glanced up at Madine, puzzled. "Something's jamming the--"  
  
"Sir!" cried the alarmed voice of one of the technicians. "I'm detecting several small fighter ships on the scopes. I can't tell, sir, but I think they may be TIEs."  
  
Madine was at the other's side in an instant. "Patch me in with the Borealis," he ordered. A moment later, the tinny voice of the commander yanked the rug out from under Leia's feet with his words.  
  
"General," he said tightly. "We're under attack by the Empire! I repeat: We're under attack!"  
  
Madine's voice was calm as he requested the data, but Leia could see that his hands were clenched into tight, nervous fists.  
  
"We have three Star Destroyers and swarms of fighters," the other reported over the comm unit. "N-o-wait. Scratch that. Another Star Destroyer just came out of hyperspace.bearing 527-348!"  
  
The controller at the console quickly pinpointed the newcomer on the scanners. "There, sir."  
  
"We see them, Borealis," Madine confirmed. "I want everyone to their battlestations. We are now on full red alert."  
  
There was a sudden cacophony of shouts in the background and suddenly the comm unit went silent.  
  
"We've lost them, sir," the controller cried.  
  
Madine hit the console with his open palm. "Get them back," he ordered. "And put Home One on line--send all ships on red alert." He slapped a control, adjusting a frequency over the jamming and his voice echoed over the loudspeakers.  
  
"Attention all personnel: this is a code-red emergency alert! All personnel revert to def-evac plan 2! I repeat: all personnel--def-evac plan 2!"  
  
"Sir, we've hailed Home One," the crewman reported. "Admiral Ackbar is on the line."  
  
"General Madine?" Ackbar's gravelly voice came over the speaker.  
  
The Corellian brushed at the blonde stubble of his beard with the back of his hand and returned to the console. "Speaking," he replied.  
  
"We are forming up now. The Borealis has just been destroyed."  
  
A stunned silence stilled all activity in the bustling room. A pin could be heard dropping on the floor, all eyes turned expectantly on the General.  
  
"Order all pilots to their fighters," Madine said quietly.  
  
***********  
  
Mara watched, motionless as a statue, as the next several waves of TIEs swept out like a cloud of insects underneath the belly of the Star Destroyer. Her eyes tracked the dissipating cloud of debris that was, until moments ago, a Rebel cruiser. One down.  
  
Behind her, the Emperor chuckled. "The Rebels have evolved into such pitiful opponents. This will be easier than I thought." He paused, and Mara turned from the huge viewport to face him.  
  
"I think," he began thoughtfully, "that it would be good for our young Jedi to witness this. Go and get young Skywalker, my Hand. And bring him back to me."  
  
Mara veiled her eyes with her lashes as she bowed obediently. "Yes Master."  
  
**************  
  
Klaxons blared across the base into the empty, open air of the serene morning, and Solo stopped shaking his comlink in frustration to straiten in surprise.  
  
"What in the seven moons is going on?" he demanded  
  
"Sir," a young man jogged up to him, breathless, shouldering his rifle. "General Madine has just issued a full emergency alert: def-evac plan 2."  
  
Solo stiffened, a colorful curse escaping reflexively from his lips. "The Imperials are here?"  
  
He looked around. Suddenly it didn't matter that a pack of Krukkars had gutted the generator station, or that they set up snipers to take out the more suicidal animals and keep them away from the base and from destroying more equipment. They were now about to be blown out of the sky by the Imperial Navy. "Knew it was too good to last," he muttered under his breath.  
  
"All right," he shouted to the crowd of milling troops who had formerly stood alertly, weapons ready, watching for signs of trouble, and now exchanged confused and alarmed expressions. Heads turned to look at him. "The base is under attack by the Imperials. We have new orders. Defense- evacuation plan 2! Let's move it--on the double!"  
  
The crowd set in motion with surprising speed and the former smuggler watched, grunting to himself. "Let's see who destroys this place first: Wild animals or the Imps."  
  
**************  
  
Mara exited the turbolift on the level of Skywalker's suite cautiously, an elusive warning nagging at the back of her mind. Something was wrong.  
  
She glanced up and down the corridor, her eyes scanning carefully for the thing that might have set off her danger sense as she discreetly slipped her tiny blaster out of its wrist holster and rested it securely in the palm of her right hand. The corridors were empty, and she could sense no one nearby. On the other hand, why should there be very many people hanging around the executive residential section of the ship when they were trying to fight a war outside?  
  
Still, she picked up her pace as she walked to Skywalker's quarters, senses alert. There was no one around. But when she rounded the final corner to the Jedi's small suite, her suspicions about something being amiss proved to be justified.  
  
A stormtrooper, the lone guard in front of the quarters of the comatose Jedi, was sitting sprawled against the smooth durasteel wall, unconscious or dead.  
  
Mara cursed proficiently, stepping over the fallen trooper and slapping at the door control. It hissed open, and she entered the darkened room, taking only moments to storm through the modest quarters and confirm what her suspicions had already told her:  
  
Skywalker was gone.  
  
************  
  
***** 


	20. chapter 20

You've all been such fantastic reviewers, I'll put up another chapter.  
  
****************** ********************  
  
A thunderous explosion in the distance shook the ground under Leia's feet, followed by multiple detonations that blacked out lights and hurled chunks of the ceiling down at her. She instinctively groped for something to hang on to in dark anticipation as the shrill sound of TIE Bombers screamed overhead.  
  
"Transport one has just departed, a voice droned over the comm speakers as the sound of the ships faded thankfully into the distance and the dim red glow of the emergency lighting came on, casting the corridor in crimson shadow. "Transport one has just departed. All remaining personnel report to bunker seven to board transports two and three immediately."  
  
Leia caught her balance again, her mind tuning out the repeated order as she resumed her half-running scurry down the corridor, in the opposite direction of bunker seven, heading for the rough-hewn hangar bays where she knew the Falcon was docked. Another explosion rocked the corridor, the dim lights momentarily blanking out and then returning with a flicker. In the distance, she caught the silhouette of a person barreling toward her, ducking out of the way of several dirt clods falling from the ceiling as more explosions pounded the earthen roof above their heads.  
  
"Leia?" Han's voice called to her as he raised his head. "Leia, is that you?"  
  
Relief flooded through her at the sound of his voice; the knowledge that he was alive and unhurt. "Yes," she cried, stumbling forward. "It's me."  
  
He caught her in a quick embrace, instinctively shielding her from the falling dirt and mud that accompanied another close-hitting explosion. "Come on," his muffled voice urged as he tugged at her wrist. "We don't have much time."  
  
They reached the hangar without mishap, Chewie standing at the lowered ramp, beckoning wildly for them to hurry. As if to emphasize their need for haste, the shaking rumble of another close-hitting bomb rattled both them and the ship. Leia staggered, trying not to fall, and Han, who caught hold of her wrist, pulled her toward the ramp. She stumbled after him, several large sections of the earthen ceiling crashing down on the hangar floor as well as tumbling with a loud *thunk* on top of the ship.  
  
"Ready Chewie?" Han called as he rounded the corner into the cockpit with flying speed. The wookiee was already seated in his oversized copilot's seat flipping switches as fast as he could, the droning background noise of the Falcon starting up sounding like an encouraging sign to Leia as she hurriedly strapped herself in. Solo dropped into his seat and Chewbacca barked something unintelligible to the former smuggler.  
  
"Okay, punch it!" Han snapped to his copilot. Leia dug her fingernails into the plastene cover of the seat as the ship lurched forward like a mynock with its tail on fire.  
  
What was left of the Rebel base quickly disappeared from Leia's view as the Falcon drove for deep space.  
  
*************  
  
"Home One's backside is getting cooked!" Wedge Antilles shouted over the roar of his ship's strained engines as he executed a sharp banking turn that almost fried several circuits. His Artoo unit and his X-wing squealed protests in unison.  
  
"Two new waves of TIEs," Red Two snapped into his headset. "Up at three o'clock."  
  
"I see them," Wedge answered affirmatively, blinking quickly to clear the dizziness from his brain as he scanned his console. "Rogues-form up over Home One before the Imps can punch a torpedo through her hull." There was a chorus of acknowledgements from his squadron and they scattered like flies to food toward the main ship. As Wedge plowed through a small pack of fighters, lasers blazing away, he caught sight of a familiar moon-shaped ship hastily making its way toward Home One.  
  
The X-wing pilot toggled with his communicator. "Falcon, is that you?" he called.  
  
"Yeah, Wedge," Han Solo's voice came over the comm. "Figured you could use a little help."  
  
Antilles smiled ruefully. "Yeah, don't we always. Welcome to our little battle."  
  
The horde of TIE fighters scattered a safe distance away from the Rebel's main ship and Ackbar's voice echoed in the middle of Wedge's head. "We appreciate your assistance, Rogue squadron."  
  
"No problem, Admiral," Wedge grinned quickly. "That's why we're here." Another TIE was in his sights and a moment later it erupted into a brilliant cloud of fire.  
  
A light on his console flashed and another voice droned in his headset, "Transport two is on its way. All fighters assume formations for safe evacuation."  
  
"Watch out," another voice added. "We're getting another couple'a fresh squadrons of TIEs."  
  
"They're cranking them out as fast as we can destroy them," someone else muttered.  
  
"Cut the chatter," Wedge reminded them, eyeing his scopes. They had already located the lumbering transport rising past the atmosphere. "We just have to hold them off until all the transports are safely away."  
  
*****************  
  
She found him in docking bay 28. It hadn't taken long to locate him, since this was the most obvious place he would be. For reasons unknown to even her, she had not bothered to alert security or the Emperor to the fact that the Jedi was on the loose. Perhaps it was best this way: Skywalker would not be so carefully on his guard.  
  
The large bay was lined with orderly rows of TIE fighters getting ready to depart. Pilots and fuelling cars were scrambling in all directions, and if she hadn't known what she was looking for, she might have missed him completely. Set farther back into the hangar, a row of about ten sleek, deadly stingray-class fighters retained a highly polished aloofness from the bustle and noise. The ships were new models built with more expensive technology that Palpatine's scientists were still experimenting with. They were worth about three million credits apiece, and, judging by the silent, powered-down status of those fighters, the petty destruction of a Rebel base did not rate the presence of this new toy.  
  
That is, the powered down status of all but one of those fighters.  
  
The bustle of the hangar allowed for Skywalker to move about generally unnoticed-and his Force skills were certainly not doing him any harm in this area-as he commenced starting up one of these expensive ships. Mara frowned as she began walking toward the Jedi, compact blaster in hand. It took several security clearances and codes just to open the cockpit, forget about getting the thing running. A wrong move would have set off a barrage of alarms. Apparently Skywalker was better than she had given him credit for.  
  
She got about fifteen feet away from the fighter, eyeing Luke as he made his way around the back of the ship, conducting his own quick external systems check. He limped into view, dressed in an olive-green flight suit he'd conjured up from somewhere. He was visibly favoring his left leg, a fixed grimace of pain and determination set into his features.  
  
"Hold it right there, Skywalker," Mara said quietly.  
  
Luke glanced up sharply, but his expression didn't change. He didn't stop or acknowledge the fact that she was pointing a weapon at him, but just continued his quick scan and then hobbled toward the ladder that would take him to the opened cockpit.  
  
"Skywalker!" Mara took several more steps toward him, blaster still aimed between his shoulder blades. His back was to her and he didn't bother to turn around.  
  
"Luke."  
  
At that, he froze, turning his head toward her voice, left foot still poised at the first rung of the ladder. She had never used his first name before, and wondered vaguely what possessed her to do it now.  
  
"I don't want to see you hurt anymore," she said quietly, realizing she was being completely honest. She wouldn't deny that she had come from hating the stubborn Jedi for taking part in her failure and humiliating her in front of her master to pitying him for becoming an unwilling pawn in a game in which he was rapidly losing control of its outcome to the toying whimsies of Palpatine. "However you will come with me, even if it means that I have to use this." She hefted the blaster. He didn't move. "If the Emperor finds out that you tried to escape again, you will be punished," she promised him, watching his face carefully for a reaction. His expression remained stony.  
  
She paused, lowering her blaster slightly, not quite sure of what insane notion was prompting her to say this. "I can help you, Skywalker," she murmured. "If you come back with me now while you have the chance-if you will just cooperate with what the Emperor wants you to do-you won't get hurt anymore."  
  
Luke's eyes were focused intently on Mara's blaster and then the searing accusation in his bright blue eyes found hers, unwittingly sending shivers up her spine. "I won't be coming back with you," he answered flatly. His voice sounded dead. "You will have to shoot me first."  
  
. Would she even go so far as to admit that she held a quiet, grudging admiration for his stubborn persistence in sticking up for what he felt was right? Mara balled her left hand into a fist in frustration. "Are you out of your mind?" she snapped, jerking away from the intense stare of those eyes. "Do you like causing yourself and the people you love so much pain and misery? How many times does it have to be drilled into you that there is an easier way? You're so gundark stubborn that you can't just give in and cooperate and stop this?"  
  
Luke's chin rose a millimeter, and underneath the hard flint and steel that his crystal blue eyes had become, Mara could see a deep and lingering pain.  
  
"You just don't get it, do you?" He whispered finally.  
  
The words stung. Mara was abruptly silent as she opened her mouth to retort and nothing came out.  
  
Finally, swaying slightly, his eyes seeming to see something in hers that she didn't see herself, Skywalker nodded slightly and turned back to the ladder, catching one of the rungs with his arm and pulling himself up. "Goodbye Mara," he said quietly. He didn't turn back.  
  
Mara watched in silence, not moving or attempting to stop the Jedi or the ship he was stealing.  
  
And she remained motionless as the Stingray rolled forward and soon swept out of the hangar bay with the departing squadron of TIE fighters.  
  
*****************  
  
"That's it," Wedge Antilles' voice announced over the comm as the third and final transport disappeared into the safety of hyperspace. "We're done."  
  
"All ships set your coordinates to jump to hyperspace on my mark," Admiral Ackbar's voice echoed after Wedge's.  
  
"Time to leave this party," Han muttered to himself, reaching for the hyperspace levers.  
  
Behind him, Leia stared, unspeaking, into the depths of space, wondering why a vivid image of Luke had suddenly flashed in front of her eyes.  
  
************  
  
The Alliance had gone.  
  
He watched with a final, hollow feeling as the last straggling fighters had disappeared into hyperspace: He never expected, and told himself, that deep down, he genuinely hoped never to see Han And Leia again--for their own sakes. Grimly, eyes casting a final furtive glance back at the Conqueror, he pulled back the hyperspace levers.  
  
As the stars stretched into a thick blur he quietly reminded himself that another, added reason for his escape was for the sake of Mara Jade herself, though she did not know it. Against his wary judgment, amidst his overwhelming worry and anxiety, he had actually found that he genuinely looked forward to her company and caustic remarks as some of the brighter parts of his dark days.  
  
How could he even find that they had anything in common--she the personal assassin to Palpatine and he the lone remaining Jedi--much less discover that he had begun to value the precarious friendship that they had formed? However, such a weakness was dangerous to have, Luke knew--one that Palpatine would no doubt exploit if he knew about it. Perhaps he already did know, Luke reflected. All the more reason to get out. He was sure that, despite her status as the Emperor's personal agent, Palpatine wouldn't hesitate to use her if it meant bending the Jedi to his will.  
  
Luke silently chided himself for being so foolish and taking such a wild risk not only with her life, but also in increasing his susceptibility to the Dark Side. He should have been more careful about keeping his distance and remaining aloof. Anybody that he would grow to care for was only going to get hurt.  
  
His eyes gazing steely into hyperspace, he silently resolved that he would never rejoin the Alliance and never seek out his friends or family to let them know that he was alive. It would be too dangerous, for surely Palpatine would be looking for him again, and if or when Luke was ever caught, he did not want the guilt and grief of having anyone he loved getting hurt because of him.  
  
His life had to be started anew.  
  
It was a big galaxy and Luke fully intended to remain hidden from those who would search him out. After all, Obi-wan and Yoda had successfully hidden from the Empire. Granted, they had lived out most of the remainder of their lives as hermits, which was something of a disheartening prospect for someone who had formerly had enormous plans for the rest of his life, but Luke decided he would do what he had to do. He wasn't quiet sure how he might accomplish this considerable feat--wasn't sure if he was strong enough in the Force, or even if he should attempt using the Force at all, considering that perhaps doing so might reveal his whereabouts more quickly than otherwise.  
  
Luke leaned his head back onto the sparsely padded headrest and tried to relax, reminding himself that his escape had been successful--if almost suspiciously simple--and, for the time being, he was safe. Still, his muscles refused to undo the tense knots they had formed, and his leg ached considerably, now that he had time to sit down and notice.  
  
A lump rose in his throat as he continued to stare out the viewport, the taunting vision of the stark loneliness that might last the rest of his life hovering in front of his eyes.  
  
***********  
  
END OF PART I  
  
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***************  
  
More? 


	21. Chapter 21

Thanks for your overwhelming amount of feedback. Your comments made my day! And of course, there's more.. So here it is. Enjoy!  
  
*************  
  
PART TWO  
  
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The air in the cantina was a thick haze of bluish-colored smoke. It was crowded to the point of being claustrophobic and the constant level of noise was giving him a headache, but Luke welcomed the anonymity that accompanied the chaos and noise as a safe haven--momentarily at least. He slouched deeper into the corner booth, his fingers groping tensely at the cracked plastene seat cover, itching for the security of having a weapon in his hands--but his lightsaber was gone and he did not have a blaster. He gazed intently through the crowd. There was no sign of Rotulle.  
  
The man was late. Or else, he had no intention of showing up at all; a possibility that Luke admitted to himself was likely. However, he was very hesitant to use the Force in any way--even for locating a single person in a crowd--fearing that it might allow for his father or the Emperor to hone in on his location-- one that he was desperately trying to disguise.  
  
He was on the planet Derra VIII, just outside the main spaceport in Kraull, the capital city. Derra VIII was notorious for its disreputable status as a smuggling stop, and Kraull was even more so. It was the reason Luke had chosen to come to this planet. He needed a way to blend in and disappear. He needed a seedy place to pawn off his stolen Imperial fighter.  
  
The cantina's lone serving droid approached him with some difficulty through the crowd. "Good evening, sir," he greeted the Jedi with a slight bow. The robot was an outdated 7-T model and bore the same worn, archaic look that much of this run-down town seemed to have. "How may I serve you today?"  
  
Luke shook his head, waving the offer away. "I don't want anything tonight. Thanks." A dull hunger gnawed in the pit of his stomach, telling a different story. He could not recall the last time he had eaten, but the reality was that he didn't have a credit to his name. He put his hunger out of his mind. It was not the time to think about this. "I'm waiting for someone," he added. The droid bowed slightly and moved away, making its way awkwardly into the thick crowd.  
  
Luke looked down at the dulled tabletop, tracing the swirling mock-wood patterns with his eyes, then glanced around the cantina again, trying to look casual as he carefully scanned faces. Behind the bar, a frazzled woman with bland features and an unattractive knot of brown hair tied at the nape of her neck was the lone server to the impatient and demanding throng of customers. Seated three tables away from Luke, was a crowd of young men who he guessed were all in their early twenties, hardly older than himself, he realized--though Luke himself felt decades older--clad in dark colors, their hair dyed the same unnatural shade of raven black. They sat around the table, guzzling alcohol freely, each sporting a variety of weapons that were plainly visible, and most likely illegal. They were all clearly quite drunk, and Luke noted that even in this crowded cantina, the patrons managed to allow this group quite a wide circle of empty space.  
  
One of the raven-haired young men caught the Jedi's intense gaze and straightened, as if challenging Luke's nerve to stare at him. Luke let his eyes continue to travel casually across the room. This was not a time to call attention to himself.  
  
"Have you been waiting long?" A voice startled him back to the present. Luke glanced up. A man that was perhaps in his mid-forties, short salt-and- pepper colored hair falling over his forehead, slid into the seat across from Luke, signaling the server droid as he did so.  
  
"No," Luke answered, keeping his voice level as he quickly eyed the newcomer. "Not at all." His gaze flickered briefly to the serving droid approaching their table again. "You must be Rotulle."  
  
The man casually lit a thick cigarra, clamping it between his yellowed teeth and exhaling an odoriferous puff of greenish smoke. "The very one," he agreed, taking a long drag of the cigarra and growled up at the serving droid, "Get me a Correlian whiskey."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
Rotulle faced Luke again. "My guy tells me you were looking for me this morning. You'd better make it quick--I'm very busy."  
  
"Of course," Luke agreed, nodding. He had searched for Rotulle specifically because he knew that Han had had dealings with him and trusted the man a little farther than he could throw him. More importantly, Luke knew that Oswalth Rotulle dealt specifically in stolen ships, an enterprise the Jedi had never thought he'd need until now.  
  
Luke wiped his clammy palms against the pant-leg of the olive green flight suit that he was still wearing. This was ridiculous to be nervous over something so trivial compared with the nightmare the last few months of his life had been. If Han were here he'd laugh at him for acting so juvenile, but Luke had never had the occasion to deal directly with smugglers and he felt like he was in a little bit over his head.  
  
"I recently came in the possession of a one-man fighter that I thought you might be interested in purchasing from me." Luke could feel his face redden. This domain was not his cup of tea, and the smuggler was obviously enjoying the Jedi's discomfort.  
  
Rotulle took another long drag of his cigarra and grinned widely at Luke. "You're talking about the ship in bay 33, aren't you?"  
  
Luke stiffened slightly. Finally, he nodded. "Yes."  
  
The man sat back, his gaze flicking to the ceiling, an amused grin playing across his features "Yes," he agreed. "That is a nice ship." He looked pointedly at Luke. "Looks vaguely Imperial."  
  
Luke was careful not to react. "I'm willing to sell it."  
  
Rotulle laughed; a short, humorless bark. "Of course you are," he said knowingly. "Wanting to get it off your hands real quick, huh? Take the cash and dash." He puffed green clouds at the ceiling for a few more moments before eyeing the Jedi again.  
  
"It's a deal," he said finally. "But due to its distinction as a ship the Empire's probably gonna want back, I have to reduce the price a bit. Five thousand. Take it or leave it."  
  
Luke only barely reigned in an exclamation of dismay. Five thousand? There was no possible way he could even purchase passage off-planet, much less buy his own ship with that small amount. What was he supposed to do with only five thousand credits? For that, he might as well hang on to the fighter--at least he would still have a form of transportation and the ability to leave the planet. Was Rotulle just trying to play him for a poor sucker with which he could easily pull the wool over his eyes?  
  
Still, Luke knew that wherever he went with such a distinct Imperial fighter in tow would trumpet to his pursuers his exact whereabouts, which was exactly what he was trying to avoid. There was no question about the issue: He had to get rid of this ship. But perhaps he would have better luck trying to sell it to another bidder for a higher amount.  
  
As if reading his mind, Rotulle eyed him and growled around his cigarra, "If you're thinking to try to sell it to someone else, don't waste your time. They know better than to entangle in wanted Imperial property--in fact some are even noble enough to report it to the Imps and get in the Empire's good graces. The only chance you have is here." He stuck a beefy finger at the laminated tabletop for emphasis.  
  
Luke leaned back into to cracked plastene seat, suddenly feeling the claustrophobia of hundreds of bodies packed into a tight, smoky, noisy place, and trying to shut out the vague headache that was beginning to form behind his eyes. He glanced past Rotulle, noticing for the first time that some sort of drunken ruckus was in full swing at the table of the raven- haired gang. The serving droid, oblivious to the air of unexpressed menace surrounding the group, had politely approached the table when one of the young men signaled. Luke watched as the droid bowed, speaking to the man, when suddenly the raven-head lashed out with his weapon, striking the droid across the metal-grate face with the butt of his blaster. The droid tottered precariously and tipped, crashing into the edge of the table with a shower of sparks and several flickering lights. The crowd of raven-heads laughed drunkenly at the sight as the droid feebly attempted to right itself.  
  
"I accept," Luke said finally, refocusing on Rotulle who was lazily rolling his cigarra between his fingers. "It's a deal. Five thousand."  
  
"Good," Rotulle nodded curtly, businesslike. He dug in a pocket and casually flicked a single credit chip across the table to Luke. The Jedi pocketed the chip and slid a datadisk across to the smuggler.  
  
"All the codes are there--it has everything you need."  
  
"Pleasure doing business with you," Rotulle said briskly, rising to his feet and taking his drink with him. Luke watched him disappear into the crowd, and then his attention was drawn back to the gang and the toppled serving droid. The crowd of patrons had cleared a wider area around their table, but had feigned being oblivious to the rising commotion. Obviously, no one wanted to tangle with these guys.  
  
In interest of continuing their sport, one of the raven-heads shoved the droid upright again. The robot, slightly off-balanced, metal arms bent somewhat askew, tottered to its feet and shuffled forward. "Good evening," it greeted the back of a chair. "How may I serve you?" Raucous, exaggerated guffaws from the raven-haired gang echoed across the cantina. They had apparently broken the serving droid, and were therefore pleased with themselves.  
  
The droid purposefully trotted toward a wall, bowing and repeating the same polite greeting. It didn't seem to notice any of the annoyed customers impatiently signaling for service as it continued to go about addressing walls, chairs and tables.  
  
The woman behind the bar started noticing the commotion and the waiting customers. "Jaret!" She shouted back in to the kitchen, pushing open its old-style swinging door with her foot as she balanced several tall drinks in her hands. "Get out here--the droid's acting up!"  
  
A thin, sallow-looking man, wiping his fingers on a filthy apron, exited the kitchen and approached the malfunctioning droid the way an animal trainer would advance upon an angry rancor. By now, the crowd had formed a wide circle around him, amused by the latest entertainment, wary of the gang of young men at the nearby table, and totally disinclined to be of any assistance.  
  
The man tried momentarily to pop open the repair hatch on the back of the robot, but he could not open it, and the droid moved ahead, oblivious to everything around it. He turned his head to the woman, a faint expression of helplessness flitting across his features. "Call Aram," he told her. "He'll have to come and fix it." She nodded and turned away from the bar.  
  
The thin man, for his part, looking for all the world like a pleading parent with an uncooperative toddler, followed the droid uncertainly as it made its rounds through the parting crowd, its limbs jerking randomly, eyes flickering on and off.  
  
"Good evening ma'am," the droid said, approaching the empty seat across the table at which Luke sat and bowing cordially. The Jedi looked with disgust from the jeering gang, to the unhelpful onlookers, to the harassed-looking man in the apron, and finally he rose to his feet.  
  
It was the work of a few seconds to get the droid's cover-plate open and yank several wires causing the now-deactivated droid to pause in mid-step and sink like a deflated balloon. The conversation around him stilled, and Luke could feel the eyes boring into the back of his head, waiting to see what he would do. He ignored them and proceeded to slap minute switches and reconnect several wires. He then hit the "reboot" button and the droid started up again with the clear hum of even machinery. The eyes lit up and the robot straightened. Luke closed the cover and retook his seat at the table, ignoring the sudden searing glares of the raven-haired gang, and pushing down the faint tingling of danger in the back of his mind as he watched the droid turn to a man with an empty glass.  
  
"Can I take your drink for you sir?"  
  
The sallow man in the apron came up to Luke, looking a little nonplussed. "You know a lot about droids," he said, sounding surprised. Luke knew that his skill hadn't surprised the man as much as his willingness to help. "Thank you very much."  
  
The crowd, their entertainment over, had already resumed the noisy chatter of separate conversations. Luke smiled genially at the man. "No trouble," he assured the other. "I hope it doesn't give you any more problems."  
  
"Jaret, I got here as fast as I could," a new voice said. A large man with graying hair and crows-feet around his eyes, carrying something that looked like a tool kit in his thick hands, approached Luke's table, and the sallow man turned to greet the newcomer. "I happened to be just here in Kraull-- but I saw the whole thing, and it looks like you didn't need me after all."  
  
Jaret grinned toothily and shook hands with the larger man. "Well we had problems with our droid, but this young man fixed it for us," he gestured to Luke.  
  
The larger man regarded Luke with some semblance of admiration. "Well that was fine work you did there. Do you have a lot of experience working on droids?"  
  
Luke nodded. "I repaired droids for a number of years," he answered vaguely, not wanting to give away too much information about his background to a total stranger.  
  
The man stuck his beefy hand out to Luke. "The name's Aram Kelson," he introduced himself.  
  
Luke shook it. "Luke Lars," he answered, using the name he hoped was not too obvious but would help mask his identity. "Pleased to meet you."  
  
"Are you from around these parts, Luke?" the man seated himself across the table while Jaret, the cook, disappeared into the crowd, returning to his duties in the kitchen.  
  
Luke shook his head. "No, I just arrived in Kraull this morning."  
  
"Are you planning to be in this city very long?"  
  
Luke smiled slightly. "It's funny you should ask that," he murmured. "I'm actually looking for employment."  
  
"Well, I run a small droid-repair shop on the outskirts of Kraull," Aram answered. "We've been looking for an extra hand ever since we lost our man six months ago. Would you be interested in such a job?"  
  
Luke eyed him. This man must be desperate for employees if he was just willing to hire Luke on the spot without knowing anything of his background or very much of his skills except for what he'd just witnessed. But Luke was being offered a job and he could hardly afford to turn something like that down. After all, he needed the money.  
  
Luke's silence must have been long enough to make Kelson notice, for he smiled and apologized. "You must think I regularly troll cantinas for people to hire. I'm sorry if that sounded rather blunt. The wages aren't very much, I'm afraid, but we do have a small room upstairs from the shop where you will be able to stay if you wish." He smiled faintly. "And my wife is a very good cook."  
  
The offer was generous and Luke studied the man's open, honest expression and knew that this was a person he could trust. "Thank you," he said quietly, not quite managing to keep all of the surprise from his voice. "I would really appreciate that."  
  
And that was how, by pure coincidence, or perhaps with the help of the Force, Luke became employed by Aram Kelson.  
  
*******  
  
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	22. Chapter 22

Sorry for the long wait.I hope everyone survived.  
  
And here's some more story!............. (  
  
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The darkness broiled in thick clouds of oily smoke, reaching for him with cold, snaking fingers. Voices cackled and laughed at his vain attempt to get away, and familiar faces swam up before his vision, pleading, laughing, and cruelly mocking.  
  
He saw Leia's face, twisted with grief; her bitter cries calling for him, pulling at his heart. He saw Han, his expression angry, hateful. He glimpsed Mara; the caustic twist of her mouth, her fiery green eyes, her mocking laughter. His father stood somewhere in the distance, stoic and silent. He saw Palpatine, his silhouette surrounded by a blue corona of fire as Luke shrunk before him, crying out in pain. His punishments, the torture droids, Palpatine and his minions as they crowed maliciously over him-the memory screamed and fought in his brain, mixing with the scorching smoke and unbearable heat. Their voices churned together in a sickening maelstrom, crying out to him, reaching for him.  
  
*Help us, Luke!*  
  
*They're dead and it's all your fault.*  
  
*We will find you.hunt you down. There is no escape.*  
  
He cried out, begging for an end this hideous nightmare--for he could only cling to the hope that that was what it was--and hung on, trying not to plummet to the eternal depths of his dark fears.  
  
Suddenly, he was awake, his eyes opened to cool darkness, his face pressed into a crumpled fistful of dampened bed sheets. His body was drenched in icy perspiration. His heart pounded like a warrior's drum, and his breathing was ragged and hoarse like he had been screaming.  
  
Cautiously, swallowing lungfuls of cool oxygen to quell the overwhelming sensation of suffocation, and forcibly unclenching his fists from their death-grip on the sheets, Luke slapped a trembling hand out into the darkness, groping for the lamp on the nightstand next to his bed. His fingers brushed cool metal and clumsily found the switch, the light suddenly bathing the small, comfortably furnished room--the one upstairs from the Kelson's droid-repair shop--in a warm, yellow glow.  
  
It had only been a dream.  
  
Feeling dizzy and nauseated, Luke slid his feet over the side of the bed and checked his wrist chrono. It was barely two o'clock in the morning, local time.  
  
It had been five days since he had arrived in Kruall and started working for Aram Kelson. Every night, after a hectic day of work--he seriously questioned how his employer had managed to run everything by himself, given all the business he received--Luke would return tiredly to his room only to lie on his bed for hours, unable to sleep. Visions skittered across his mind--visions of his father and the Emperor conducting a feverish, inexhaustible search for him, the images leaving him tense and on the edge. Fear for his friends' safety left him feeling worried and guilty. They were busy fighting a war and he was hiding out. They needed his help and he was turning a blind eye to their plight. Every night, when he finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep, the same pleading, accusing nightmare invaded his dreams, leaving him gasping, sobbing to wakefulness in the infant hours of the morning--shaken enough that he would not be able to sleep for the rest of the night. As dawn would turn the dark sky to gray, he would only be able to gaze listlessly out the small window, his shoulders taut, his mind reeling with indecision, fists clenched so tightly the knuckles were white, his body and mind utterly exhausted.  
  
He shivered slightly in the cool, damp air, pressing a clammy palm to his forehead and shakily rose to his feet, limping to the refresher.  
  
His left leg was mostly healed by now, its vague, persistent pain was something he could now shut out and ignore. However, with the lack of proper medical attention, and using the only basic healing skills that he knew, the broken bone had healed somewhat grotesquely, making his left leg about a half an inch shorter than his right.  
  
Luke leaned against the polished sink and turned on the cold water, splashing it over his face and neck and cupping a handful to drink, the clear liquid cooling his parched throat.  
  
He leaned over the sink for several moments, eyeing the disheveled, red- eyed stranger that stared back at him in the mirror. Dampened hair stuck to his forehead, and dark circles outlined his eyes. He needed to rest. But his mind was still racing from the fresh horror of his nightmare and he knew that for the remainder of the night, sleep would again perform a tantalizing and elusive dance just out of reach of his weary grasp.  
  
****  
  
Han found her in the cockpit of the Falcon, seated in the pilot's chair, the faint lights of monitors and consoles and the odd chalky glow of hyperspace giving her face an angelic glow as she gazed listlessly out the viewport, oblivious to his presence.  
  
Chewie was asleep, the droids powered down, and most of the glowpanels throughout the ship had been dimmed. It was the equivalent of night in space. But, Solo had awoken a few minutes before to pitch-blackness and found that his wife was no longer lying beside him.  
  
He came forward to massage her shoulders. "You're sitting in my seat," he murmured.  
  
Leia's hand reached for his and she turned, offering him a tired smile. There was a gentle sadness in her eyes that was familiar, but he could not quite place it.  
  
"You should be sleeping," he said mock-sternly. "Because when you're not there, I can't sleep either."  
  
"Heaven forbid," she whispered, the faint smile reaching her eyes. He leaned forward to kiss her and she accepted.  
  
When they parted, Han said gruffly, "now you'd better have a good excuse for sitting there."  
  
"Of course I do," she agreed. "I'm married to you."  
  
"Funny, princess. And I'm touched that you want to keep watch, but we won't be coming out of hyperspace for five more hours."  
  
She smiled thinly. "Well, since I couldn't sleep, I decided it was the least I could do." Her face was deadpan, her sarcasm subtle, and the sadness in her eyes deepened.  
  
"What's wrong, Leia?"  
  
She shook her head, her smile faltering. "Nothing. I just had a bad dream."  
  
"Hmm. Strange kind of nothing." He sat down in Chewie's oversized chair. He now recognized the look in her eyes. It was the expression she wore when quietly mourning for Luke. He guessed that she did not really want to talk about it. "Nightmares about the new Rebel base we're going to?" He asked.  
  
She rolled her head to face him and looked at him from the corners of her eyes. "That must be it."  
  
"Well I guess we have Lando to thank for finding a base in an old mining facility on an asteroid." He shuddered.  
  
Leia smiled. "I knew there was something I never trusted about him."  
  
"Well, at least we can almost be sure not to be found by Palpatine's cronies."  
  
Leia's expression suddenly darkened. "Don't speak too loudly," she murmured. "Nothing's ever certain."  
  
She fell silent, her eyes staring blankly into hyperspace again.  
  
Han opened his mouth to speak, to ask her why she had just spoken those words with such dark certainty. Had she had some sort of premonition, or was it just weary cynicism that made her words sound like a pronunciation of doom?  
  
He shut his mouth and decided not to ask. The quiet cockpit was comfortable and he was tired.  
  
The mottled tunnel of hyperspace barreled past in tranquil silence.  
  
************ **************** 


	23. Chapter 23

Seconds anyone?  
  
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"Good morning Mr. Lars," the guarded smile of Connah Kelson, Aram's petite, graying wife, greeted him at breakfast as she set a plate full of devarian sausages and Sononin sweetcakes--a particular favorite in Kruall--on the polished metal table in front of him. "I hope you slept well."  
  
Luke saw his warped, distorted features reflecting back at him from the table as he took his seat. It looked about how he felt this morning. "Fine," he answered. "Thank you." He picked up a utensil and stirred his food around the plate. He should try and eat something, but he just didn't have much of an appetite.  
  
"Aunt Connah--I can't button my collar," a frustrated child's voice entered the kitchen behind Luke. "Can you help me?"  
  
"Oh, Benjamin," she sighed. "You can't wear this shirt to school--it's filthy!"  
  
"But there weren't any others in my drawer," the boy protested. "We can wipe it off."  
  
"Did you comb your hair?"  
  
"Forgot."  
  
She sighed again. "Well, you're running out of time--sit down and eat."  
  
A little boy about seven years old, tousled curly red hair falling over his eyes, came to the table, grinning shyly at Luke as he gingerly placed a handful of miniature toy speeders on the table.  
  
The Jedi smiled back. "Hi, Benjamin."  
  
"Hi."  
  
Connah set a plate in front of the boy, shoving aside the toys. "Hurry and eat," she told him.  
  
Benjamin didn't seem to hear her as he held up a toy swoop for Luke's inspection. "See this one? It's my favorite-it goes the fastest."  
  
Luke took it carefully, examining the toy with interest. "It's very nice," he smiled, handing it back. "How does it work?"  
  
"Benjamin--you're going to be late for school. Eat your breakfast."  
  
The boy pointed to a small switch on the side. "You push that button."  
  
"Aram will be back in about an hour," Connah said, addressing Luke now. She was busy at the counter, stirring a bowl of thick batter as she spoke and though she did not meet his eyes, he still got the same impression as whenever he spoke to her. She did not like him, and despite her husband's confidence, did not trust him. "He had to leave early this morning for something. He said for you to just get started on the rest of yesterday's orders."  
  
"I have to be careful about pushing the button because it goes so fast," Benjamin was still telling Luke, illustrating animatedly with the toy swoop. "Once, I let it fly across the classroom at school and it hit the holoboard and I got in trouble and had to stay after school."  
  
Luke nodded at both of them.  
  
"Mr. Bengally was mad at me 'cause you're not supposed to take toys to school. Because, you see when I do this--"  
  
He didn't have time or the need to finish the sentence, for when his finger pushed the button, the miniature speeder shot from the boy's hands like a bullet or a particularly large, black insect and flew across the room, landing with a plop in the batter Connah had been stirring.  
  
Benjamin's eyes went wide with equal amounts of laughter and trepidation as his aunt fished the toy out of the bowl.  
  
"I'm sorry, Aunt Connah. I didn't mean to let it go."  
  
Luke tucked away a smile, pretending instead, that he was eating and had not noticed what was going on.  
  
She looked appropriately stern. "Haven't I told you a hundred times not to fly your toys in the house?"  
  
"Sorry," the boy repeated meekly.  
  
"Now eat your food," she ordered, handing back the swoop. "You're going to be late."  
  
Benjamin sat back down at the table, aiming a triumphant grin furtively at Luke as he pocketed his toy. Luke smiled back.  
  
He checked his chrono. "Well, I'd better get started on those droids," he excused himself, standing up. He hadn't eaten much. He just wasn't hungry. He nodded politely at Connah. "Thank you for the delicious breakfast."  
  
*********  
  
"You have failed me, Mara Jade."  
  
His voice was the purposeful grating of sandpaper on her ears; her master was willing her to hear in his harsh reprimanding tone his displeasure, his annoyance, his growing anger--and perhaps the most painful for her to face-- his disappointment in her. Mara endured it silently, her head bowed, eyes cast down at the stone floor, flinching inwardly at the words of disappointment that came from the one single person in the galaxy she desired to please.  
  
"I'm beginning to think that perhaps Skywalker and his feeble Jedi parlor tricks have really gotten the better of you," Palpatine remarked. "Such a gross failure on your part is very.upsetting." He seemed to choose his words carefully, watching her closely for a reaction.  
  
Mara didn't move. She knew the Emperor was probably well aware that she had allowed Skywalker an easy escape from the Conquerer. How could he not know? He knew her thoughts, and for the past couple weeks, those thoughts were haunted by the wrenching pain she remembered in Luke's eyes--the chained bird wanting to be free; the noble young man who had been manipulated all his life because of his incredible potential; someone who stood up for his ideals--even if those ideals and his stated distinction between good and evil still seemed foreign to her; someone who could be so strong and foolishly brave but was terrified of what he himself was capable of; someone who's concerns for himself couldn't be farther from his own mind, but who's fear for his friends' safety haunted him night and day. Palpatine knew that she had come from viciously hating Luke to grudgingly admiring him. She was weak and he was disappointed in her. Deep down, his words hit their intended mark, and she again felt the deep, lingering pain of another failure. There was once a time when she executed and performed her missions flawlessly, emotionlessly. It seemed now that she was falling; losing her rigid control.  
  
"Alas, you are not rid of our young Jedi yet, Jade," Palpatine cut into her thoughts. "I want this fiasco rectified as soon as possible. I want Skywalker found. And you will put forth your complete effort in this search."  
  
Mara didn't have to be looking at Palpatine to recognize the dangerous warning in his voice. With an effort she swallowed, working moisture into a dry throat and raised her eyes to meet the fierce yellow gaze in the dark shadow of the black cowl of the robe. She nodded, feeling truly repentant.  
  
"Yes master."  
  
"You will work and cooperate with Lord Vader in helping to locate our young Jedi. Vader has a headstrong streak in him that occasionally needs disciplining. You will watch him closely. You will also work with him. His bond with young Skywalker is particularly strong and should aid in locating the Jedi more quickly."  
  
Mara frowned at this turn of events. She would be working with Vader? Was this the punishment she was to endure for her most recent failure?  
  
"Master?" she asked carefully.  
  
His laugh sent shivers down her spine and she lowered her head, suddenly worried that her cautious question might be misconstrued as disrespect. "Of course I know your dislike for Lord Vader. I know you prefer to work alone. If you wish to do so again, you had better cooperate on this mission with Vader and locate Skywalker."  
  
Palpatine knew better than anyone the worst way to punish her for her mistakes. Teaming her up with Darth Vader would not only be torturous to her, but would doubtless provide him with ample entertainment in the absence of Skywalker as he watched them both squabble. He would be very amused.  
  
Of course she couldn't object, as much as the idea of working with Vader revolted her. Her tongue was thick in her mouth and her throat was very dry. She knew better than to protest her master's instructions.  
  
"I will do as you command," she said hoarsely, bowing again. She cleared her throat and raised her head to meet his gaze once more, openly showing him her resolve. "And I will not fail you."  
  
Palpatine's yellow eyes stared back at her, through her. He sat unmoving, poised, coiled like a snake, making Mara feel as transparent as glass.  
  
"See that you don't."  
  
******  
  
What do you think? Tell me honestly now. Comments? Flames? Bring em on.. 


	24. Chapter 24

As always, thanks for your replies-hope you enjoy!  
  
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She was seated at an ornate desk facing a large transparisteel window. She stared at the magnificent view of the Imperial city scene before her, but did not really see it. Behind her, the steady, rhythmic breathing of Darth Vader sounded almost impatient.  
  
"Your dislike of me is obvious," he rumbled. "I can assure you that I am not particularly fond of the idea of working with you either. However, we can either cooperate and work with each other and make this as pleasant as possible, or we can bicker and quarrel pointlessly and not accomplish anything."  
  
Mara swiveled her chair to face him. Vader was standing behind her like a towering shadow, stiff and apparently unused to bargaining with people. She allowed herself a moment of enjoyment at seeing his discomfort. She rose to her feet. The Dark Lord stood over her, trying to appear as intimidating as possible. She refused to be unsettled and she gazed challengingly up at the dark polished eyes.  
  
"I will work and cooperate with you only because it is what the Emperor has ordered that I do. "  
  
"Then let's not waste time."  
  
Her eyes glared fiery darts at him, but his hidden gaze was immune to her glare. She gave up, reaching down and picking up her datapad from the desk. They were supposed to work together. Right. "Our first item of business will be narrowing down Skywalker's location." She cocked an eyebrow at the dark Lord. "A search that would be greatly simplified by employing the famous father-son Force bond we've heard so much about. Don't you agree?"  
  
Vader was silent for a moment, his head tilted in a direction that she could tell he was gazing not at her, but out the window. Mara knew she shouldn't push it, knew, like a distant reminder in the back of her mind, that the dark lord was dangerous, that she should treat him as such, but the words came out of her mouth anyway. "You CAN still sense Skywalker can't you?"  
  
The dark lord didn't answer. The only sound was the measured tempo of his rhythmic breathing. She watched as he took a step past her, black-gloved fingers taking the second datapad off the desk. He glanced at it and then up at the window, his back to Mara. She was beginning to think he wasn't going to answer her. Did that mean that Vader could no longer sense his son? That was interesting. She considered asking him, but did not want to risk an explosion of his infamous temper. They did have to work together.  
  
"He has grown very strong in the Force," Vader said finally, his rumbling voice sounding quiet and subdued. He did not turn around.  
  
Mara studied the dark profile, trying to interpret the odd tone of his voice. Had Vader suddenly decided to confide in her or something?  
  
"Yes," she agreed finally. "He has."  
  
So in other words, Vader could not sense Skywalker. That certainly would slow down their search. She cleared her throat and lifted her datapad, studying it briefly. "Then the first thing we will need to do to narrow the search down is to locate the ship he stole."  
  
"He's not stupid," Vader commented, finally turning around. "I'm sure he is long rid of it by now."  
  
"Yes, I'm sure he is," Mara nodded. "But it's a big galaxy. At least this is a place to start."  
  
Vader sighed and nodded. "Very well," he replied. "That is your first assignment."  
  
Mara gritted her teeth in irritation. "Don't push the cooperation thing," she growled.  
  
His sarcasm was difficult to miss as he sketched a slight bow. "My sincere apologies."  
  
*************  
  
It was late in the afternoon and the waning sunlight filtered through the high windows of the droid-repair shop, spilling shafts of light on the oil- stained permacrete floor and illuminating the dust in the air.  
  
Luke crouched, gyrospanner in hand, over a disassembled droid, its rusted innards spewed about the floor like the entrails of a gutted beast. He wore a stained and faded blue-gray coverall, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His expression of creased brows and gritted teeth and the tense straining of his arm muscles betrayed the effort required for him to attempt to pry free a particularly stubborn bolt that had apparently been rusted on. He bit his lip and braced his whole weight against the bolt, but it still refused to budge.  
  
Luke clenched his teeth and tried again, but without any luck. The habit of reaching out for the constant hovering option of his Force ability to help him in his task was automatic and convenient, but he had to consciously put the idea aside. He made one last half-hearted attempt before expelling a tired breath and setting his tool down on the ground. He stood there for a moment rubbing his throbbing hand.  
  
Using the Force to help remove the bolt would greatly simplify his task, to be sure, but that dangerous well of power was no longer an alternative in his life. He knew he must forget its existence and figure out how to get along by himself, without enlisting its aid. The sooner he grew accustomed to living without the Force, the better his hope of staying hidden from the reaching gaze of the rotting beast that was the head of the Empire. And he knew they were looking for him.  
  
He sighed, rubbing his cheek. He wasn't sure who he thought he was fooling. The Empire had hunted down and killed all the Jedi before him, and all of them, most assuredly, had been stronger and better able to succeed at hiding or fighting back than he could possibly hope to be in his ill-planned and seat-of-the-pants strategy for evading capture, and yet all but a very few of those Jedi had succumbed.  
  
It was really only a matter of time before they found him.  
  
And he was again reminded of his sister, and the danger she was in. That Luke could possibly get severely punished or killed was of little consequence to him so long as he somehow managed to hang on to the light. But Vader and Palpatine knew of Leia's existence. Surely, as a Skywalker, she possessed the same powers and strengths that he did. Surely, they knew that. And surely they would not pass on such an opportunity to use that power to their own destructive ends.  
  
*Then what are you doing here hiding and worrying about yourself when she is in peril?* a small, accusing voice in his mind demanded.  
  
*I'm trying to keep her safe by keeping her out of this!* Luke thought to himself quickly, his temper flaring suddenly, unexpectedly. But he felt a stab of guilt even as he thought this. He had friends that were kind and loyal to a fault. They had risked their lives for him countless times. Now when it came his turn to help them and fight for them, what was he doing? Nothing more than giving them the grief of letting them believe him to be dead, standing by and WATCHING as the Alliance was conveniently destroyed by Imperials, hiding out on a third-rate planet thinking only of his own safety and well-being.  
  
*Some friend you are, Luke Skywalker,* the voice in his mind taunted. *Some Jedi you turned out to be--*  
  
*Stop it!* Luke mentally shouted to himself.  
  
The loud, wooden clatter of the shop's door slamming shook Luke back to the present, reminding him that he was supposed to be working on a droid. He jerked his gaze away from the spot of sunlight on the floor where he realized he had been staring, and become conscious of the fact that his hand was clutching the gyrospanner so tightly that spasms were shooting up his arm. Forcibly, he calmed his rapid breathing and sought to clear away his tension and agitation. *Get a grip, Skywalker.*  
  
"Benjamin, is that you?" he called, tilting his head toward the narrow hallway where the door had slammed.  
  
"Hi Luke," the seven-year-old with the unruly rust-colored hair walked in. His face was grubby, his clothes rumpled, and he held carefully in both hands several of his miniature toy speeders. He grinned at the Jedi.  
  
"Whatchya up to?" Luke asked, making himself smile back as he shoved the taunting memories to the back of his mind and set his tool down on a small wooden table.  
  
Benjamin carefully emptied his handful of toys on the table and picked up one. "This broke and I was wondering if you could fix it for me."  
  
"Oh--well let's see it," Luke crouched down next to the boy and gingerly took the toy, examining it for a minute.  
  
Benjamin glanced around the shop for a few moments, and as Luke fiddled with the toy, he kept half an eye on the child to make sure that he didn't touch anything.  
  
"Where's my uncle?" Benjamin asked, experimentally hefting the tool that Luke had set on the table.  
  
"Um," Luke murmured, "He left a little while ago to take care of a couple of deliveries across town. He should be back any minute, actually."  
  
Benjamin fiddled with the gyrospanner for a minute, and it seemed he was concentrating on carving a couple of new grooves in the table.  
  
"Oh, here you go," Luke murmured, catching the boy's attention again. "This thing just slipped out. See? Now it's all fixed." He handed the speeder back.  
  
Benjamin's grubby face beamed. "It works now? Can I drive it in here?"  
  
"Well, you should probably take it outside--you know your uncle doesn't like for you to play in here."  
  
"Okay then, we can go outside." The boy seized Luke's hand and attempted to pull the Jedi toward the door. "Come out and play with me!"  
  
Luke smiled as he slipped his hand away. "I can't play right now--I've got work to do. Maybe we can play later, okay?"  
  
Benjamin adopted a well-practiced whimpering expression. "No!" He whined. "I want to play NOW."  
  
Luke sighed. "Benjamin, if you be good and let me work, maybe we can go to the playground or something in a little while, all right?"  
  
The boy suddenly brightened, his face instantly transforming into an interested expression. "Okay," he said cheerfully.  
  
"Good," Luke nodded, picking up his tool again and returning to the dismantled droid.  
  
The door to the shop opened and then slammed with a loud clatter and heavy footsteps entered the narrow hallway.  
  
"Uncle Aram!" Benjamin cried enthusiastically, beaming at the man as he entered.  
  
"Hi Benjamin," Aram's voice said, sounding tired. "What are you doing in here, huh?" He entered and saw his employee crouched over a droid and answered his own question without skipping a beat. "Keeping poor Luke company, eh?"  
  
"Yeah! And guess what? Luke said he would take me to play at the playground pretty soon!" the boy reported excitedly.  
  
"Well is that so?" Aram smiled, and regarded the Jedi, chuckling. "I probably don't pay you enough, do I, Lars?"  
  
Luke smiled and shook his head. "It's okay. I really don't mind."  
  
"So when can we go?" Benjamin pestered Luke.  
  
Aram sighed and said, "Not yet. Why don't you go play for now."  
  
"But I don't want to--"  
  
"Benjamin." his uncle started warningly. The boy took the hint and, looking only slightly disappointed, left the shop.  
  
There was silence for a moment, and Luke concentrated with increasing frustration on prying the bolt loose.  
  
"I hope Benjamin hasn't been annoying you too much."  
  
Luke shook his head. "It's no problem."  
  
"I hope not," Aram smiled slightly. "Because the boy has become more attached to you in the last couple of weeks than he has any of his school- mates in the past year. I think he's adopted you as his older brother or something."  
  
"It's all right," the Jedi smiled. "I like kids, and I don't get to be around them very often."  
  
Aram nodded, seeming to agree with what Luke said. "Children are wonderful, aren't they? Connah and I are very fortunate to be privileged to raise the boy." He smiled again.  
  
"How long have you and your wife had custody of Benjamin?" Luke asked, hoping, as an afterthought, that it wasn't too personal a question.  
  
Aram didn't seem to mind. "Ever since he was two," He answered. "His mother--Connah's younger sister--died quite suddenly in a freak accident five years ago and we took him in. Connah and Mauri were very close. As a result, Connah is fiercely protective of Benjamin. He is the only thing she has left of her sister. I think she's terrified that she'll somehow lose him."  
  
Luke nodded in understanding, some of the pieces falling in place about this woman's puzzling behavior toward him: the guarded looks, wary conversations and overheard complaints to her husband about Luke.  
  
"She doesn't like me very much, does she?" he said quietly.  
  
Aram shook his head regretfully. "No, and I'm sorry for that. But please don't take it personally. She is just very cautious of strangers--and around here, heaven knows you have to be--and she's wary of people she doesn't know. She doesn't trust you as a rule."  
  
Which was smart, really, Luke mused. He was actually surprised that Aram seemed to hold Luke, a perfect stranger, in such high regard, given the reputation of this city. "I see," he said quietly. "But I just have one question. How come." he began.  
  
"I hired you?" Aram finished, smiling slightly. "Well because I'm a good judge of character and I can tell. Granted, you do have the looks of a kid who's on the run or something, but unless I'm way off my mark, you seem to be an honest worker and a decent person, and most importantly you're someone with the skills that I need."  
  
He looked like someone on the run? Luke thought he'd been hiding it better than that.  
  
"Thank you," he said quietly, turning his attention back to the stubborn bolt, but not making a move to work on it. "I appreciate your confidence in me. I hope I can deserve your praise."  
  
"You've already done so," Aram told him, his features affecting a look of amused irony that somehow reminded Luke of Obi-wan Kenobi. "You do excellent work."  
  
"But you're also right," Luke continued, a wistful smile coming to his lips. "In a way, I AM on the run." Aram certainly wasn't asking for Luke's story, but the Jedi felt he should explain obligated to his employer to give a reason and an alibi.  
  
"Oh?" Aram asked casually.  
  
Luke took a deep breath. Obi-wan had pointed out to him once that truth was only from a certain point of view. But to someone who had seen first- hand the damage that could be done and the people that could be hurt by this philosophy, Luke knew that "a certain point of view" was only a way of excusing lying and deceit. The Jedi had vowed never to do such a thing to anyone, but now it seemed he was about to stoop to that level anyway.  
  
"My father," he began, "is a very wealthy man. For years, he has extended his manipulative influence over everyone around him, and used his extensive power to make people do whatever he wished."  
  
Aram listened attentively, his face expressionless. Luke plowed on. "To escape from the demands that went against my morals and beliefs, and to break free of his sphere of power, I left--disappeared, and started out on my own. It was the only way I knew I could be free and independent of.all of it." He sighed. "My father is doubtlessly very angry with me and I know he will want to find me. He has enough money to hire as many people as it takes to do so. So, in a way, yes, I am on the run."  
  
"I see," Aram answered. Luke didn't know whether the man believed him or not, but it appeared not to matter, for he was not going to question Luke's story. The Jedi went back to the dismantled droid. He despised himself for lying.  
  
Again, he attacked the rusted bolt on the droid, releasing some of his frustration on the unyielding droid. The bolt came off.  
  
*****  
  
The playground was situated between several old and somewhat dilapidated buildings, in what was obviously one of the more derelict parts of town. The buildings towered over the area and cast long, late-afternoon shadows over the dead lawn of the rundown park. The large metal structure of swings and slides and poles looked as if it had formerly lived life as scrap metal before being converted to one of the sorriest excuses for a swing-set Luke had ever seen.  
  
But despite the seedy appearance of the park, dozens of children, watched carefully by the usual assortment of parents and caretakers, had played happily; the noisy, joyful shouts of carefree kids somehow setting Luke's mind at ease.  
  
Benjamin was crouched in the weed-ridden sandbox, as he had been contentedly for the past hour, playing with his toys and explaining happily to the Jedi seated next to him about everything from his toys to things at school to his favorite food. Luke simply nodded and replied occasionally, not really paying attention.  
  
He recalled what it was like to live the innocent and untroubled life of a child, where the biggest concerns in life were doing chores and worrying about the local bullies. As a kid, Luke had thought he had it rough. By comparison, he was now without friends or relation, hiding from the biggest, most powerful organization in the galaxy, and worried to the point of a nervous breakdown.  
  
Over the course of the next hour, the afternoon had grown into shadowy dusk, and slowly, the busy shouts of the playground dissipated as the children gradually dispersed and went home. Soon, Luke and Benjamin were one of the last remaining few still left in the park.  
  
"We should get going pretty soon," Luke remarked to the boy during a lull in the child's animated conversation. "It's getting late-your uncle will be wondering where you are."  
  
"Okay, just a second," was the hasty reply. "One time, at school, me and this kid named Kordu went and."  
  
Luke suddenly stiffened, and Benjamin's voice faded from his hearing as a sudden familiar tingling of danger jolted his mind. He glanced around the near-deserted park, a surge of adrenaline suddenly giving an edge to his mind and actions as his hand automatically reached to his side for the lightsaber that wasn't there.  
  
In the lengthening shadows he half-expected to catch a flash of light on white armor, to hear a muffled voice ordering that he put his hands in the air, or to feel the brutal shove of a heavy blaster carbine against his shoulder. But there were none of these things.  
  
Luke quickly scanned his surroundings, his heart pounding, mouth dry, as the feeling of danger intensified. What was he doing here without a weapon? Years in the Alliance and associating with Han had made him very cautious about always being armed, and now there was danger here and he didn't even a have a blaster with him.  
  
In the shadows, next to one of the buildings, Luke could make out the dark shape of a person dressed all in black. He recognized the man a moment later when he saw the unkempt hair was dyed an unnatural metallic shade of ebony. He was staring straight at Luke.  
  
"Benjamin," Luke said quietly, his eyes flicking briefly to the boy and back to the raven-head who was watching them. "It's time for us to leave. Right now."  
  
"But I don't want to go," the boy protested.  
  
The Jedi took hold of Benjamin's wrist, gathering his toys in his other hand, and stood up, ignoring arguments. "Hurry," he urged.  
  
Luke was unarmed and out in the open, against at least one of these gang- members who were, judging by the look this one was shooting at him, still harboring a grudge over events that occurred two weeks before in the spaceport cantina. He'd seen what kind of weapons they had, and he also was aware that he was going to have to protect Benjamin and would not be able to use the Force for fear of calling down half the Empire upon his head.  
  
Each step Luke and Benjamin took away from the raven-head leaning against the building wall made the Jedi able to breathe easier. They weren't being followed, and the shout of danger was easing back to a gentle warning in the back of his mind.  
  
"Why do we have to go home?" Benjamin whined, dragging his feet slightly at Luke's quickened pace. "I wanted to stay and play."  
  
"We'll come some other time," Luke assured him. "It's is getting dark."  
  
However, Luke was going to invest in a good blaster first.  
  
*****  
  
please feel free to voice your opinion. T. 


	25. Chapter 25

Whoa, whoa! I didn't know this had sparked an uprising. Sorry for the really, really long time in between chapters. I've been in the process of moving out of a scummy basement apartment into a new house and dealing with midterms, no internet, blah blah. The good news is that I am two chapters away from completing this entire story--all 236 pages of it. So here are a couple of chapters for ya! R&R--and have a great day! Bu-bye now! ;p  
  
P.S. sorry if you've tried to read chapters 1-11. Something happened to them. I'll fix it sometime, but just not now.  
  
******************************* ***********************************  
  
A quiet, persistent beeping sound percolated through Han Solo's consciousness, startling him rudely out of a peaceful sleep. With a muttered curse, he slapped out a hand aimed to squash the source of the noise--the alarm clock.  
  
His blindly flailing hand struck something, sending it flying from the nightstand and hitting the nearest wall, with the crashing sound of shattering duraplast and metal components. The beeping stopped.  
  
Han sighed, fully awake now, rubbing the heel of his palm at sleep-sticky eyes that did not seem to want to open and slowly sitting up.  
  
"It's morning, Leia--time to get up," he nudged the sleeping form of his wife lying next to him, then smacked the glowlamp on the nightstand as he swung his legs over the side of the be bed. The lamp shot the tiny room with a searing white light. Solo covered his eyes with his arm, uttering another muffled curse as he stumbled to his feet.  
  
"Hon, I think I broke the chrono," he told her, prodding the busted components of the clock with his foot. She didn't reply. "Serves the blasted thing right for waking me up. Leia, wake up--we've got a meeting to go to in an hour."  
  
Running a hand through his tousled hair, Solo edged his way through the narrow space between the bed and the glaring metallic wall of the small room to the refresher. The 'fresher was nothing short of a glorified closet, cramped and claustrophobic, but the fact that he and Leia didn't have to share it with five or six other people made Han's opinion of its size far more favorable.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, he emerged, ready for the day, rounding the bed again to get his gun belt and blaster from the nightstand. Leia was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking exhausted and gray-faced.  
  
"Good morning, hon," he kissed her. "How'd ya sleep?"  
  
"Don't ask," she moaned, plowing her face into a pillow.  
  
"Are you sick?" he asked, frowning.  
  
"I've been throwing up half the night," her muffled voice replied, sounding irritated. "I really had no idea you're such a heavy sleeper that you didn't hear."  
  
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry," Han said sympathetically, reaching over to rub her back. "I had no idea you were sick." He peered down at her face.  
  
"What can I do for you? Get you something from the mess hall? How about a quick ration bar surprise?"  
  
She turned her face from the pillow, unsmiling. "Not funny, Han," she muttered.  
  
A lopsided grin came to Solo's face anyway as he shrugged. "Well, you can't blame a guy for trying."  
  
She sighed. "Can you just tell Mon Mothma that I'm sorry, but I won't be making it to the meeting this morning?"  
  
"Sure, I'll tell her," Han nodded. "Do you need anything else?"  
  
"Just for you to turn off that silly lamp," she murmured, shutting her eyes. "Between these metal walls and that blinding searchlight, I feel like I'm in a reflector oven."  
  
"That I can do," he said, kissing her again.  
  
*******************  
  
The mess hall was crowded with bleary-eyed pilots and tired-looking Rebels, seated at long tables, poking listlessly at their food or waiting in lines, empty trays in hand. The noise was the drone of talking and the clattering of trays and silverware. Han entered the hall, scanning tables for Chewie or Lando, but saw no sign of either.  
  
The breakfast line was unusually long this morning, Solo observed, taking a tray and watching idly as other Rebels in the line talked and laughed good- naturedly. It seemed that everyone's spirits had been lifted with the move to the new base, which had turned out to be more successful than anyone had anticipated. The base itself had not turned out to be the run-down and half-decayed mining colony Han had been expecting to see on an asteroid, but it was rather, more of a luxurious hotel designed to comfortably accommodate workers, investors and overseers of the mining operations. In fact, the area the Alliance had turned into a mess hall had formerly been an elegant restaurant. Unfortunately, that fact hadn't improved the taste of cafeteria food at all.  
  
A cafeteria droid mechanically plopped an unappetizing blob of food on a plate, handing it to Solo as he reached the head of the line. The food was something Han could not identify, but he grimaced and took it wordlessly. Leia could count herself lucky being sick this morning.  
  
He scanned the mess hall briefly, looking for a place to sit. It looked as though he would be eating alone this morning.  
  
The sea of freshly scrubbed, bright young faces that seemed to make up the majority of Alliance personnel suddenly made Han feel old. He jolted as he realized his eyes were automatically scanning for one familiar face in particular. So it had seemed for a while now, every corner he rounded, every new recruit he met, that he would run into Luke Skywalker. Han craned his head, seeing an empty place to sit at a far corner in the room.  
  
Had Luke really been gone five months? It was still difficult to comprehend. Solo still somehow expected the kid to show up somewhere, greeting them with an easy, good-natured smile and an apology for worrying them. It was still hard to believe the young Jedi was dead.  
  
Han's eyes refocused to find he was staring straight at the frantically waving arm of a laughing Wedge Antilles across the room. He was sitting among the usual group of Rogues, all of who were apparently enjoying a good joke at Han's expense. Solo's face warmed in chagrin as he moved to sit with the pilots.  
  
"Daydreaming, Solo?" Jansen grinned. The other pilots laughed.  
  
Han smiled. "Lay off, guys. I had a late night last night. I'm tired."  
  
"A late night?" Wedge echoed. "Doing what, I suppose?" he asked, sharing a laughing expression with his fellow pilots. They all chuckled. "The lone married man in our group, huh?" he elbowed Han with a knowing look.  
  
"I was finishing paperwork, for your information," Solo growled, but their raucous laughter already drowned out his explanation.  
  
Han shook his head, glaring at his food, and then at the Rogues. He was not seeing the humor in any of this. It must be too early in the morning.  
  
He checked his chrono and realized he was already running out of time to get a head start on replacing the repulsors on the FALCON before he had to be at his meeting.  
  
"Listen guys, you know I'd love to stay and chat, but I've actually got to run." He eyed his food again. Who really needed breakfast anyway?  
  
"And do me a favor, will you, Wedge? If you see Chewie anywhere, let him know that I'll be on the FALCON for about the next twenty minutes, okay?"  
  
"Uh.sure," Wedged nodded.  
  
"Thanks," Han said, standing up. "I'll catch you guys later."  
  
*************** ***********  
  
How her contact had managed to stay in the smuggling business this long was beyond Mara's ability to comprehend, she mused silently, as she sat, looking fairly inconspicuous at her casual seat at the bar, watching him across the crowded, middle-class restaurant.  
  
The man glanced nonchalantly around the room, and his stealth was that of an amateur. He looked shifty and uneasy--that much was visible from where she sat--and that uneasiness had intensified the longer Mara waited to meet him. She was late on purpose--it gave her a chance to analyze the person she would be meeting with and make a good judge of his character and temperament by watching him. The man was burly and scruffy, and despite his obvious strength, his eyes lacked the luster of keen intelligence that was the distinct sign of a potentially dangerous person. Mara immediately dismissed him as being a threat, seeing him as the typical example of brawn over brains that fit the job description of too many hired shippers. She could see, though, that his patience was wearing thin, and his growing nervousness at having to wait was becoming more apparent.  
  
*Amateur,* Mara thought to herself in mild disgust. She stood up from the bar, leaving a credit chip to pay for her half-consumed drink.  
  
It had taken almost two weeks for the combined resources of both her and Vader, sifting through various rumors and reports to locate this man, Aturra Baclalle, who, according to the information from Vader's somewhat questionable sources, knew something concerning the stolen ship they were searching for. Mara ground her teeth in restrained frustration. Vader found some information and then sent her to do the running. The dark Lord seemed to take pleasure in flaunting his ability to order her around. Mara, for her part, tried to bear her punishment in silence.  
  
She made her way through the busy restaurant, careful not to call attention to herself.  
  
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked Baclalle as he glanced up at her.  
  
His dull grey eyes, hidden by dark, bushy brows, communicated some understanding and he nodded fractionally, looking like he had been caught off-guard.  
  
"You ARE Baclalle, aren't you?" Mara asked pleasantly, taking note of the man's confused expression. He had not been expecting his contact to be a woman. Good. She had been hoping it would throw him off.  
  
"I have been sent by Roark Nass," she continued. "But, of course, you must know that already."  
  
He nodded, his demeanor struggling to appear at ease, but the bobbing of his adams-apple gave him away. "Of course," he smiled awkwardly. "I've been expecting you. Of course," he said again. "And your name is.?"  
  
"Of no consequence," Mara finished for him, allowing a slightly menacing expression to come to her eyes even as she smiled politely. She needed cooperation, and the way she was going to get it was by being intimidating. She was already working under the presumed identity of a high-ranking agent of Roark Nass, a fairly notorious crime lord in this sector, and also Baclalle's boss. She hoped that that instilled enough fear in this man to get him to tell her what she wanted to know.  
  
"It has come to Mr. Nass' attention," Mara began deliberately, "that you have started dealing behind his back."  
  
"What do you mean?" Baclalle asked cautiously.  
  
Mara smiled thinly at him. "You know exactly what I mean." Her expression was dangerous--fortunately Baclalle was intelligent enough to see that. "The boss pays you to haul cargo, not work businesses on the side for extra profit."  
  
The large man shook his head, but Mara could see the beginnings of fear cloud his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
Mara snorted, shaking her head. "Are you going to play stupid with me? Want to be in more trouble with the boss than you already are? I'm talking about ships. Really expensive ships. Does that ring a bell with you or do I need to drag you in to Nass to explain in person?"  
  
"I didn't actually buy it!" Baclalle blurted, something akin to terror now shining in his eyes. He sagged back against his seat, realizing he'd just confessed.  
  
"Oh?" Mara asked, raising her eyebrows for him to continue.  
  
"I only got an offer," the man said quietly. "I didn't buy it. I thought the boss would have approved, though. The ship was a fighter of the type I have never seen before-a couple years ahead of anything else they've got out right now. We could have sold it for five mil easy. We could have made a fortune."  
  
"We?" Mara asked coldly. "I'll remind you that the boss's first order for his people is that they keep a low profile. Keep to your job, and leave the purchases to the people who know what they're doing. Is that understood?"  
  
Baclalle nodded mutely.  
  
Mara took out her datapad. "Before you leave, I need to know the name of this person who was selling this ship to you and where he can be found."  
  
"But I don't know what--"  
  
"Either you can tell me or you can tell the boss," Mara shrugged. "Which will it be?"  
  
Baclalle sighed, giving in. It was obvious that he was in over his head. "It was on Dorsa in the Eastern Kinnearian spaceport. He called himself Finsha Murdoch."  
  
Mara entered the information stood up. "You're cooperation has been very helpful, Baclalle. Consider my words to be a friendly warning to you when contemplating future endeavors. Good night."  
  
She made her way to a private com unit where she would be able to report this news to Vader.  
  
*****  
  
****** 


	26. Chapter 26

***************** ************************ ************************** *********************  
  
He was dreaming again. He knew he was dreaming again.  
  
Despite knowing this, the scenery around Luke did not dissolve or falter, and the sound of his footsteps was a hollow echo in his ears as he entered what he recognized as the lounge in the MILLENNIUM FALCON. Regardless of the fact that he was dreaming, the small hold still had the faintly musty smell of dirt and grease, and the recycled air was cool and clammy, making him shiver.  
  
He moved to the gaming table, about to take a seat when the far door suddenly hissed open and he jolted in surprise: Leia entered, her expression warm and full of concern. She was dressed in a clean white jumpsuit and her hair was plaited into braids, draping elegantly, almost reaching her shoulders. She looked beautiful.  
  
"How are you feeling?" she asked, coming forward to give him a quick hug. "We've been so worried about you."  
  
Luke frowned, hugging her quickly back. "Fine," he answered, puzzled. "I'm just fine."  
  
"Is your hand still hurting you?" she asked worriedly.  
  
His hand? Luke glanced at his hands still on her shoulders only to pull away in shock. At the end of the right sleeve of his tattered khaki tunic, his arm ended at the wrist. Stunned, Luke glanced down at his clothes, at the torn pockets and tattered knees. His lightsaber was missing. His left hand flew to his cheek, feeling the cuts and bruises on his face. "What happened?"  
  
Leia looked distressed. "Your duel with Vader," she told him, seemingly worried that he didn't know. "You were dangling from the underside of the city when we came to rescue you."  
  
Luke stared at the tarnished durasteel floor. "Bespin," he whispered in realization. "This is about Bespin, isn't it?" Why was he dreaming about this now? It had been one of the darkest memories of his life, but he was over it, beyond having nightmares of this again. *Wake up, wake up.* a tiny voice urged inside his head. Nothing happened. He looked around for a place to escape, perhaps a secret portal to exit, but there was only his sister, still staring worriedly at him.  
  
Suddenly he wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her for playing along with this hallucination. *It's a dream--only a dream!* his mind shouted. *Wake up!*  
  
"I can't believe you came back for me, Leia," he found himself saying, instead. "You could have been killed or captured. You saved my life."  
  
"It's what friends do for each other," she told him, grasping his one hand in hers. "And I know you would do the same thing for me."  
  
Luke wanted to smile reassuringly and say, "of course I would," but a sudden wave of nauseating guilt washed over him and the words seemed stuck in his throat.  
  
Leia seemed not to notice his hesitation as she went on talking. "You're so loyal, Luke," she praised him warmly.  
  
"What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled.  
  
She smiled kindly. "Well, take evacuating a base, for instance," she suggested. "If the Alliance was under attack from the Empire, I could never picture you sitting in your ship, watching idly as the Rebels got destroyed." Luke stiffened. She didn't seem to notice.  
  
"Do you know one thing that I really admire about you, Luke?" She continued.  
  
He didn't want to know. Dread suddenly took hold of his stomach and twisted it in a tight knot. He just wanted to wake up. But again, something else seemed to take control of his mind and he found his mouth responding without him. "What's that?" He asked.  
  
"Just knowing that you would never betray your friends to the Empire, that you would never be so cold and cruel to do something as horrible as sending a fellow pilot to his death." Her dark, trusting, knowing eyes met his and Luke felt all the color drain from his face.  
  
He took a shaky step backwards, his mind whirling. *What have you done? What have you done*  
  
"But most importantly, I think," Leia went on pleasantly, "is the fact that you are so loyal to the Alliance. You would never abandon them. Without you, who knows if they would be able to hold together and not be destroyed? Loyalty is what defines real friendships--don't you think?"  
  
Luke blanched again and she smiled, seeming not to notice his distress. But he could almost imagine that those warm brown eyes held a hint of vengeful menace as if quietly satisfied that her knife thrust had struck something vital. No, he was seeing things. "You're so wonderful and so loyal, Luke," she congratulated him again. "So loyal."  
  
Nausea curdled in Luke's stomach and he shook his head angrily, not noticing the surprise on his sister's face at this sudden emotion. "I had to leave and to hide," he hissed, furious and outraged at himself for his feeble excuse. It was pathetic and selfish. What had he done by leaving the Alliance? None of his actions made any sense now. Everything his friends had ever done for him, every time they'd stuck their necks out for him and had gotten him out of a tight spot flashed before his eyes. There were almost too many to list for the accident-prone hotshot from Tattoine: The Death Star trenches, Hoth's barren wastelands and the underside of Cloud City were only a few of them. His friends had done so much for him-- could he possibly say that he had returned any of those favors? "I didn't want you in danger--I didn't want anyone to be in danger because of me!"  
  
"So you say," she replied. Her voice was suddenly cold, her eyes hard. "You claim that being a hermit and hiding away will solve our problems and yours. But what you are obviously too afraid to admit--even to yourself--is that you are running away from your responsibilities and duties. You're running away, Luke! Betraying your cause and abandoning your friends to die."  
  
"No!" Luke protested desperately. "No."  
  
"If you ever stopped thinking of yourself, you might consider the grief your actions have caused us. Have you ever given thought to that? Of course you haven't. Luke, you are a traitor and a coward!" Leia looked angry and hurt all at once.  
  
"No!" Luke whispered, wishing he believe his own protests. "It's not true!"  
  
"Isn't it?" she asked, cocking a dark eyebrow at him. "Don't lie to yourself, Luke. You've betrayed us all." She took hold of his severed wrist and raised it like a testimonial to her words. Luke didn't pull away. He couldn't. "You lost your hand because you refused to join Vader and his Empire. Why didn't you spare yourself the inconvenience?"  
  
"No!" he cried again, suddenly plunging backward into a bottomless hole, the scene of Leia and the Falcon shredding away while he sank into oblivion. His cavernous cry hung in the air, and her words repeated themselves in a maddening chant as he braced himself to strike the ground he knew must be coming.  
  
He finally hit and pain exploded through his skull, his ears ringing. He clutched his head with a moan and squinted against the bright light stabbing his eyes. After a moment, he became aware that he was seated in a rather uncomfortable chair, and, as he cracked his eyes open, realized that he was in his own room, seated at the small table, and the lights were still on. The only sound was the rhythmic patter of icy rain against the darkened windows.  
  
Luke groaned, rubbing the side of his head where he had struck it against the corner of the wall. He could not recall falling asleep in the chair, could not even remember being particularly tired as he'd sat there, carefully constructing components for a new lightsaber.  
  
He eyed the shapeless mound of protruding wires and circuits that was the fruit of four days' work in his spare time. It was going to be a long-term project, but working with his hands kept his mind off of other things.  
  
Slowly, Luke rose to his feet, ignoring the protests of a variety of muscles as he straightened from the chair. His stomach rose in protest too, and Luke quickened his pace to the refresher. He got there in time to vomit over the toilet, his insides twisting into miserable spasms.  
  
Finally, he sagged back against the wall, all the details of his most recent nightmare flooding back in on him. The tiled wall was cool against his fevered temple, and the patter of rain against the transparisteel window seemed to grow more insistent. He checked his chrono: 0345. He sighed. To try to sleep would be out of the question. He needed to get out and away from the stifling suffocation he felt, to get his mind on something else.  
  
Five minutes later, his boots on, thin parka zipped up to his chin, Luke stepped outside into the freezing rain. It had been a long time since he had gotten some exercise. With his leg healed the way it was, it was impossible for him to try jogging, but even a decent walk would do right now.  
  
******** ************  
  
The doors to the elegant dining hall on Vader's flagship were open as Mara rounded the corner of the carpeted hallway, flanked on each side by her annoying personal escort of two stormtroopers.  
  
Vader stood as she entered, probably more to appear imposing than out of any courtly mannerisms on his part. "You're late," he rumbled, gesturing to the long, black polished table and the lone chair at one end that was waiting for her. "Sit down."  
  
Guardedly, Mara entered, and the doors hissed shut behind her. Vader took his seat and cocked his head expectantly at her. "Are you waiting for something?"  
  
Two serving droids entered through a side door, each bearing an enormous platter of food. Mara smiled caustically, her expression covering her unease. "Do you entertain all you collaborators this lavishly?" she asked. "If the purpose of dinner is so we can get all chummy and friendly working together, then that's real cute, but it's probably not going to work."  
  
"You're trying my patience, Jade," Vader growled. "I am merely attempting to behave civilized toward you--no easy task, I can assure you. Don't make it more difficult for me. Sit down."  
  
Mara took her seat with a reflexive glare at the Dark Lord. "Being difficult is what I do best," she replied, eyeing the serving droid as it dished a fair-sized portion of something that looked like noodles and shellfish onto her plate.  
  
Vader was also served a heaping plate of steaming food, but he did not seem to notice--the dark eyes of his mask still watched Mara steadily. How would he eat anyway? She admitted that she had never given such a contingency much thought. She'd never seen Vader eat, and it wasn't likely that he was about to start now. He probably had the food to set her at ease. More likely, it was to unnerve her.  
  
"So, what is it you wanted to talk about?" she asked, taking a cautious bite of her food. It was hot.  
  
"I'm interested in hearing how the search for Skywalker is progressing," the Dark Lord responded. "I thought it best to hear it straight from you this time, instead of consulting those incompetent fools who like to refer to themselves as my intelligence team."  
  
Mara took a drink of water. "You have been given the reports, haven't you?" she asked. "We have people combing Kinnear--and much of Dorsa for that matter--looking for Finsha Murdoch, but there's still no sign of him. It shouldn't be long, and when we do find him." she paused, glancing at the crystal goblet in her hands, pondering for a moment what that would entail. "He should be able to tell us everything we want to know."  
  
"We are wasting time," Vader rumbled.  
  
Mara tipped the glass at him in a mock salute. "Well," she murmured. "Patience was never one of your strong suits."  
  
The dark lord smacked his fist against the stone table. "Excuses do not sit very well with me, Jade--only results."  
  
"And you're so obsessed with finding your son, that it's never occurred to you what will happen to him after he's found," Mara said quietly, unfazed by his outburst.  
  
"What happens to him is none of your business," Vader replied angrily. "Your only job is to do what I order you."  
  
Mara bit the inside of her cheek to remind her to keep her to keep her temper in check. This was not the time to have a feud with a Sith Lord. "Parade whatever airs you like if you want a false sense of power," she retorted. "But I'll remind you who I take orders from, and the reason I'm cooperating with you is not because of any of your threats or your polite little luncheons."  
  
Vader didn't reply.  
  
Mara took another bite of her food. "Skywalker will be back in our hands soon enough," she said, eyeing the dark lord. "I just wonder what kind of father you are, that you could possibly want such a thing as this for your son."  
  
********  
  
Just so you know, I thrive on feedback. ( 


	27. Chapter 27

Sorry for the long break in between things, but I just got finished up with finals and stress and now have a little vacation in which I hope to finish this story. Thanks for being such a great audience. T.  
  
Han Solo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, resisting the temptation to glance at his chrono for the second time in five minutes. Leia would probably chide him for poor etiquette later, but this meeting had gone on for more than an hour, far exceeding his short attention span.  
  
"We will plan on sending a small convoy of delegates to Anroth," Mon Mothma was explaining. "No more than five or six will be necessary, but they must be carefully chosen. Considering the wealth of resources that they have to offer, having this planet join our side would be a definite boon for the Alliance," she spread her hands. "And since their people have been so betrayed by the Empire, it doesn't seem as though it will be very difficult to convince them."  
  
"But the human chauvinism of the Empire might lead them to believe that every organization behaves in the same fashion," Ackbar added. "Therefore, it is important that we show them that the Alliance is different."  
  
Mon Mothma nodded. "You have a good point, Admiral," she agreed. "It would be best, for this trip, to send delegates that are not only human, but a variety of species."  
  
"Admiral, it seems you fit the very job description," Leia remarked with a smile.  
  
Ackbar half turned to her, his expression holding the faintly identifiable Mon Cal expression of a grimace, seeing that he had backed himself into a corner.  
  
"I agree," Mon Mothma nodded, folding her hands. "Admiral? Would you go?"  
  
Ackbar nodded his bulbous head. "Of course," he replied.  
  
"I nominate Nien Numb as another potential candidate," Lando spoke up. "He flew copilot for me at Endor, and though I'm not quite sure of his skills as a diplomat, he is a Sullustan." The Baron Administrator shrugged.  
  
"What about Chewbacca?" Madine asked, directing the first question at the thus-far ignored Solo. "Would he be willing to steer toward the delicate field of diplomacy?"  
  
"I honestly don't know," Han admitted. "Probably. I'd have to ask him though, before I committed him to anything."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Unfortunately, our time for this meeting has run out," Mon Mothma interjected. "I'm afraid we will have to continue making this list when we meet again day after tomorrow. Until then, I know we all have other matters to attend to."  
  
Everyone stood. Solo had to bite his lip to keep from vocally expressing his relief as he took his wife by the elbow, saying their quick good-byes. He escaped the small conference room as if he would suffocate if he stayed there any longer.  
  
"You look green," Leia laughed as the door slid shut behind them, leaving them alone in the narrow, metallic corridor. "Are the meetings really this awful to you?"  
  
"You have no idea," Han groaned. "If I had known just what accepting position as a general would include, I would never have been stupid enough to agree. I don't know how you can get through these little get-togethers with your sanity intact."  
  
"Only a talented few are capable of such a feat," she agreed gravely.  
  
The door behind them hissed open and shut again and they turned together to see Lando flash them a white smile.  
  
"Han, ol' buddy," he slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Flight drill is in an hour. Are you planning to be there?"  
  
"Unfortunately," Solo scowled. "Why?" His eyes narrowed. "It wouldn't have anything to do with wanting to borrow the FALCON, would it?"  
  
Lando held his hands up innocently. "Would I want anything to do with the FALCON?" he asked.  
  
"That's what I want to hear," Han nodded. "We'll see you in a little while, pal."  
  
"What is this all about?" Leia asked her husband as he motioned for her to precede him into the waiting turbolift, casting a frown at Lando's departing figure.  
  
"Nothing," he shook his head as the doors slid shut and the turbolift car shot upward with a brief sensation of zero-g. "Just the usual tiff about the FALCON. You know I won't let him within spitting distance of my ship."  
  
"Of course I know," she laughed. "The latest news among the Rogues is that there's going to be a rematch of Sabaac between you and Lando. People are already placing their money on who's going to win."  
  
"I can't believe you would stoop so low as to rehash Rogue gossip," Solo chided his wife. "I thought you were above such a thing." She only smiled sweetly.  
  
They entered the corridor of their living quarters and Leia produced the thin plasteel card that would let them in. Being married had its advantages, Han reflected, one of which was a private room amidst the zoo of the Alliance base. As a result, he had found that he did not retreat to his ship nearly so often, as it was normally the only haven against the constant insanity of people around him everywhere.  
  
"I was actually asking about where you have to be in an hour," Leia corrected her original question as she opened the door and flipped on a light.  
  
"Oh, that," Han shrugged. "They're sending two squadrons to check out the nearest moon on this side of Salastor. They say it's habitable, and it's fairly close to the asteroid belt, so it could be useful to us-as long as no one else has gotten to it first."  
  
"Not likely, way out here," she agreed.  
  
"Well, hey, what are you doing in an hour?" Han asked. "You could come with us. It would just be us and Chewie on the Falcon."  
  
Leia shook her head. "I don't really think so this time," she replied. "I haven't been feeling too great today, and I don't really think space travel would help my stomachache any."  
  
Concern for his wife suddenly swept through Han. "Well, are you okay?" He asked. "You've been sick an awful lot these past few weeks-maybe you ought to see a medic about it."  
  
Her face was grave. "Actually, I already have," she answered.  
  
"Well?" Han prompted, frowning when she didn't elaborate. "It's nothing serious, is it?"  
  
She cocked her head to the side, looking up at him from where she sat on the bed. "Yes. It's fairly serious." Her face was deadpan.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"I'm pregnant, Han."  
  
Solo did a double-take. It took a moment for the words to register. "You're--you're WHAT?" he stuttered.  
  
She grinned. "I'm going to have a baby," she repeated, laughing. "Dear, you look really white all of the sudden--would you like to sit down?"  
  
Solo knew he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn't seem to help himself. "A baby?" he repeated, taking her slender hands in his.  
  
"Yes," Leia nodded. "A baby. And you know what that means?" She pulled him down to sit by her. "Han Solo--you're going to be a daddy."  
  
Solo laughed, and kissed her, suddenly picturing a pigtailed toddler running through the corridors of the base or riding on top of his shoulders as he spun her around. Who would have ever pictured him as a father?  
  
"Yeah," he answered, kissing her again. "The engineers are going to have nine months to come up with the Alliance's first daycare."  
  
"Yes," Leia agreed. "I guess we're going to have to start enlisting the Rogues for babysitting duty."  
  
"But one of the best advantages of having a family," Solo grinned, "is that we're going to need a bigger room."  
  
********  
  
Mara Jade strode purposefully down the narrow, dimly lit hallway of the shabby, run-down hotel, the shrill objections of the infuriated landlady behind her going ignored.  
  
The walls of the hallway were covered in faded, peeling paper and the floor was carpeted by a shaggy olive green rug that was ill-fit for the narrow space, the molding edges curling in the corners. Mara could imagine that the wood underneath was in also in a healthy state of decay.  
  
"Wait a minute!" the sharp voice of the pursuing woman shrieked, her footsteps pounding the stairs behind Mara. "You can't come in here! You have no right! I'll call the authorities!"  
  
The Emperor's Hand reached the room at the far end of the hall, stepping past the broken and splintered wooden door.  
  
Four members of Imperial Intelligence stood around the rumpled bed in the corner of the room, facing the thin sallow-looking man who was seated almost defiantly on the corner, looking up at them. The small hotel room was grungy and dimly lit. Yellowing shades had been pulled over the window to block out Dorsa's fierce afternoon sunlight and the diffuse yellow glow made it difficult to distinguish faces, but Mara recognized the thin man even from the poor view she had of him.  
  
One of the Imperials, who, judging by the telltale air of authority about him, was obviously the Captain, turned to Mara as she entered. He was young, with short dark hair and intense blue-gray eyes that were, despite Vader's derogatory comments regarding his Intelligence team, deadly calculating. "We've held him here, as per your orders," he told Mara.  
  
"Good," she replied, motioning with her head toward the doorway. "Have someone get rid of that woman before I shoot her myself."  
  
The captain nodded curtly, and a moment later, one of his subordinates stepped out to take care of it.  
  
Mara stepped forward, cold green eyes boring into the sallow man's face. He stared back without flinching. "So," she said quietly, "you're Finsha Murdoch."  
  
He raised his eyebrows patronizingly at her. "How very clever of Imperial Intelligence to catch on to such a pertinent piece of information so quickly. I'm very impressed."  
  
Mara ignored his sarcasm. "We have learned from a reliable source that you have been dealing in stolen merchandise."  
  
"That happens to be my job description," he agreed. "Though no one has ever seemed to care enough before to call it to the attention of the Imperial Brass. I should really be flattered."  
  
"We care when you are dealing in this particular merchandise. Specifically, Imperial ships."  
  
The smuggler's features hardened ever so slightly. "Then you've come to the wrong man," he told her. "I don't deal in ships."  
  
"I hope you will weigh the risks of lying to me before you do it," Mara warned him. "Otherwise your mouth is likely to get you in very big trouble. Now, I just have a couple of questions for you, if you will kindly cooperate with me and answer them."  
  
Murdoch didn't reply, so she continued. "The whereabouts of the actual ship concern me less than knowing where you got it from and who sold it to you."  
  
The man shifted on the bed, frowning thoughtfully. "Well now, I don't know," he began. "You see, in this business, we smugglers watch out for each other. It just wouldn't be good ethics to sell-out on an associate like that."  
  
Mara snorted in disgust. She could think of half a dozen things she would prefer to have happen to this man in order to make him tell, but she was short on time. "How much will it take?" she asked him.  
  
Murdoch's features suddenly relaxed into an easy grin. "Well, if you put it that way, I can see room to negotiate. Maybe somewhere in the ballpark of 25,000."  
  
Mara clenched her teeth to keep from snapping out a retort. "Fine," she growled.  
  
"His name is Oswalth Rotulle.large guy," Murdoch gestured with his hands. "Smells of cigarra smoke, deals mostly in ships. He associates himself with pirate types like the Bahru when he wants to, but otherwise sticks to himself. I met with him in the Derra system, but usually he prefers the comforts of being close to home, which is on Caleight." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Is that enough?"  
  
Mara nodded her head. "It's a start." She turned to the dark-haired intelligence officer. "Captain, be sure that things are taken care of with this man."  
  
Without waiting for either of them to reply, she turned and left the room, hurrying to her shuttle.  
  
****** 


	28. Chapter 28

************* "Storm sounds pretty bad out there," the portly, balding man remarked from where he stood, practically hovering over Luke's shoulder. He rocked back on his heels, taking a bite of the round fruit in his hand, wiping his sleeve across his mouth as the pink juice dribbled down his chin. Luke nodded without answering, concentrating on the droid he had been trying to fix for over an hour now. "Of course you can't really hear it from here, but I stepped outside a few minutes ago and it was raining wampas out there."  
  
Luke nodded again, barely listening. He was kneeling on the brown tiled floor in the back of the large kitchen of a three-star hotel, a 2-QR protocol droid lying half-assembled in front of him. It was late and he was getting tired and irritable. The man, however, didn't seem to be at all fazed by Luke's lack of manners and continued standing contentedly over the Jedi, watching him work on the droid.  
  
The enormous kitchen, bustling in a hurried frenzy only a few hours before, was now empty of its cooks and servers, and most of the lights were turned off, shrouding the room in a cavernous half-lit gloom that made Luke feel like it was closer to midnight than only two hours after the evening meal. This job was expected to be quick and simple--two droids in need of some minor repair work-and Luke had counted on working for one hour, not five. He sighed and concentrated on what he was doing.  
  
"Of course, storms do tend to get pretty bad about this time of year," the man mused into Luke's thoughts.  
  
"Huh," the Jedi grunted unenthusiastically, He went to work on re-soldering one of the slender metal-jointed robot arms, hoping this person would take the hint that he did not want company and leave him alone. "That's nice."  
  
The man shifted his feet impatiently and Luke could feel the stranger's hot, odoriferous breath on the back of his neck as he hovered. "Just how long is this going to take you?" he asked.  
  
*Why, are you in a hurry?* Luke felt like asking, but he held his tongue. "Won't be long--I'm almost finished," he said out loud  
  
The distracting presence of someone hovering twelve inches away from his shoulder got to Luke a few moments later and he sighed, setting down his tools. "Look," he began, "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but would you mind giving me a little space?"  
  
"Oh sure," the man apologized. "Sorry." He took a step back. Luke sighed again.  
  
An hour later, though it seemed an eternity later, Luke finally finished his repair work and left as quickly as he could.  
  
The portly man had been right about one thing: an impressive storm was raging through Kraull. Luke's afternoon and evening had been spent indoors, repairing droids, so he had no idea how long it had been raining, but it did not show any signs of letting up. Darkness had settled in quickly because of the heavy clouds. It seemed the very heavens had been unleashed upon the planet, and the rain, fuelled by a howling wind, struck the ground in a thick, biting onslaught.  
  
Luke made a mad dash through the freezing, pouring rain to the darkened hulk of the Kelson's battered speeder where it was parked unobtrusively behind the hotel, the words in peeling yellow and black paint advertising "Kelson Droid Repair" on the side of the vehicle. The rain pelted thunderously on the roof of the speeder as he started it, the speeder coming to life with a burbling chug. Luke wiped the water out of his eyes, and made a futile effort at drying off before pulling away from the hotel, the dim headlights sweeping a path in front of him.  
  
The drive through the dark, seemingly abandoned streets was a good 30 kilometers to the Kelson home. Luke was surprised at how tired he was. After only ten minutes of listening to the lull of the drive, sleep trailed at the edges of his consciousness. It had been a particularly long day and he only now realized how exhausted he was.  
  
The speeder made an odd coughing sound that startled Luke out of his half- daze. He frowned, scanning the readouts, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. He supposed the thing was just being temperamental.  
  
Suddenly, the vehicle pitched violently to the side and made another sound that resembled a sickly gasp. Luke straightened, instantly awake, struggling to keep it on the road as it ground and puttered to a halt.  
  
"Oh, great," he muttered under his breath, trying to restart it. Nothing happened. The speeder's headlights projected out into the darkness to illuminate the rain that was still coming down in sheets. Its steady patter against the roof did nothing to bolster his spirits. "Come on," he hissed at the vehicle, as if his encouragement would help. "Start."  
  
Nothing happened. It was hard to tell from the rain blurring the viewport, but it looked as if smoke was coming out of the grille in the front. He sat in silence for a moment, pondering the fact that this was a perfect end to a perfectly difficult day. Then, sighing in exasperation, Luke pulled on the hood of his parka and got out.  
  
Icy pellets of rain, fueled by a powerful wind, struck his hands and face like needles, but Luke gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it as he threw open the repair hatch of the front of the speeder. A combination of smoke and steam poured out in a vaporous cloud and Luke waved it away, trying to shine his tiny pocket glowlamp into the darkened innards.  
  
There wasn't much to see. Obviously, something had overheated, but Luke couldn't say what. And while he knew a little about speeders, this model was absolutely foreign to him and he didn't have the right kind of tools to even begin tinkering. It took a few more minutes of probing at unfamiliar components and accidentally burning the back of his hand in the process, before, pulling the useless parka closer around him, Luke finally climbed back into the speeder, thoroughly drenched to the skin.  
  
He considered his options. He did not have a comlink, so he couldn't call anyone for help. The speeder was an older model that did not contain any sort of mapping system at all, but at Luke's best estimate, he wasn't too far away from the Kelson's house. It might be a twenty-minute walk at the most. Even in this cold rain, it couldn't be too bad.  
  
Luke suddenly saw the irony of his situation and had to laugh at himself. Maybe he was more accustomed to blazingly hot, dry weather than this, but that was a poor excuse. While training with Yoda on Dagobah, the Jedi Master had made him run through thick foliage and hostile terrain for hours every day, regardless of the weather. Certainly it had rained-almost daily. But Luke was ordered to run anyway.  
  
Luke felt his face warm in chagrin, almost hearing Yoda's voice chiding him for letting himself become indolent and lazy. He was a Jedi and as such it was certainly a priority for him to stay in shape. A walk would be good for him. Another severe gust of wind shook the speeder as Luke engaged the locking mechanism and scanned everything to make sure it was shut down.  
  
The ferocity of the storm met him with full force as he got out of the speeder again and began walking.  
  
******  
  
Standing twelve inches tall, looking up at her, the small hologram of Darth Vader somehow failed to look imposing, now matter that he tried. "You're quite certain it's him."  
  
Mara sighed, sitting down in the straight-backed chair behind her and crossing her legs casually. "As best as anyone can determine with only a physical description and no holo," she replied tartly. "Oswalth Rotulle: height: 177 centimeters; weight: 107 kilos; brown eyes, gray hair. He and his ship both match up. At any rate, they're rounding him up and taking him to the bunker for interrogation. I will fill you in on any new developments."  
  
"I will need to be informed immediately," Vader began, suddenly assuming his commanding tone that she so resented from him. "No delays."  
  
"Yeah, I know the drill," she cut him off impatiently. "You'll hear from me shortly." She signed off before he could say anything else and the small three-dimensional image of the dark lord abruptly shrunk to a pinprick and disappeared.  
  
Mara glared at where Vader's miniature figure had stood. "If you want to find out so bad, then why don't you get your fanny down here and do some of the work yourself?"  
  
*****  
  
"You did WHAT?" Connah Kelson exclaimed.  
  
Luke stumbled into the warm, brightly lit kitchen, Aram's hand at his elbow, helping him into a chair. "I.walked."  
  
It was hard to make the words come out right--he had long since lost all feeling in his face and hands and feet. He was so cold.  
  
"Are you out of your mind?" she asked. "You don't go walking in storms like that. Why--just an hour ago, one of the neighbors outbuildings was virtually flattened by that wind. Do you realize how cold it is out there?"  
  
Luke wanted to nod and reply that he actually had a pretty good idea of how cold it was out there, but Aram spoke up instead. "Make up some hot tea for him, Connah. I'll get some blankets."  
  
"Mm fine," Luke insisted. "Really." He could not seem to keep his teeth from chattering long enough to speak. "Just came to tell you that your speeder broke down..an' thas why I'm so late."  
  
"Just how far did you walk?" Aram asked him.  
  
Luke shook his head. He didn't know, but it had turned out that he'd severely miscalculated his distance from the speeder to the Kelson residence. "'Bout two hours."  
  
"You need blankets and some dry clothes," Aram told him, but Luke waved him away.  
  
"No, I'm fine," the Jedi insisted. He rose to his feet. "I don't want to bother you--I'll be fine. I have to go."  
  
"Well, at least drink some tea," Aram replied. "It will warm you up faster.'  
  
"No, really--"  
  
"You can take the whole pot with you, if you wish," the older man persisted, ignoring the seething glare he suddenly received from his wife. Luke hadn't missed it, however, and had absolutely no desire to find himself in the middle of a confrontation.  
  
"I really don't think--"  
  
"Here, I insist," Aram interrupted, leaving no room for argument as he shoved the insulated teapot into Luke's hands.  
  
*******  
  
Getting warm again seemed to be an impossible task. After Luke had stumbled up to his room above the shop, he downed three cups of hot tea, took a long hot shower, and then turned up the heat in his little room until it was near sweltering. Still, as he climbed into his bed an hour later, huddling under the thick, well-worn blankets, he was unable to keep his teeth from chattering. A night of this miserable cold stretched out in front of him, for the comfort of sleep never seemed to take him, no matter how exhausted he was. For hours, it seemed, he lay huddled in his bed, sweat-dampened sheets tangled around him like ice against his skin, listening to the enraged fury of the storm as it howled and beat against the sides of the small shop throughout the night, nailing a livid torrent against the shuddering windows.  
  
Though he could not sleep, the dreams still managed to come--worse than ever, now, plagued and distorted by the hideous sound of the howling storm, vividly garbled and warped by his feverish imagination and the ever- present, snaking cold. If he had thought he could get away with it, Luke would have tried to go into a healing trance, and rest in the security of a dreamless, empty sleep. But he didn't dare to use the Force in any way, for fear that it would half the Empire down upon his head.  
  
Finally, an eternity later, he stumbled out of bed, the storm still deafening in his ears, and barely made it to the refresher in time to be violently sick.  
  
**** 


	29. chapter 29

Oswalth Rotulle scowled as he took the thick cigarra from his mouth and blew a smoke ring into the air. "Of course I remember where I got the ship," he retorted, sounding slightly miffed. "Though I don't see what this has to do with anything."  
  
"Just answer the question," Mara ordered. "I need the location."  
  
Rotulle laughed nervously. "This is ridiculous. Why do you want--"  
  
Mara was losing patience. "Either you report to me or to Vader himself," she told him. "He will doubtlessly employ a faster method of making you talk than I am. The choice is yours. I don't have all day."  
  
Rotulle seemed to get the message. "Sure," he nodded, trying to appear at ease. "What does it matter, anyway? I was on Derra IV, in the capital city of Kraull."  
  
"Do you know the identity of the person who sold you the ship?"  
  
"No--I promise I have no idea," He added defensively as she speared him with an interrogative expression.  
  
"Give me a physical description, then," Mara told him.  
  
Rotulle shrugged. "Average height, light hair, blue eyes, I think. Young guy--early twenties."  
  
At this, Mara went cold.  
  
The smuggler saw her expression and interpreted her recognition. "Oh, I get it. He's the guy you're looking for? A pilot that decided to defect and do as much damage as he could on the way out, huh?" He nodded knowingly.  
  
Mara didn't reply. She fumbled with a small holocube of Luke, taken a couple days after the destruction of the Death Star, and showed it to Rotulle. "Do you recognize this person?"  
  
"Yeah. He's the very one that sold me the ship," the smuggler nodded. "I don't forget faces."  
  
She wondered vaguely why this news filled her with such an unexplained sense of foreboding. She was getting closer to Skywalker's location. Why should that bother her? Wasn't the purpose in searching for him to find him?  
  
"What other details did you gather from meeting with him?" Mara asked quietly. It was highly doubtful that Luke would have given any accidental clues of his present whereabouts to a smuggler, but she had to ask.  
  
"Nothing of the sort," Rotulle replied. "But if you're still looking for him, I would place my bets that he is still on Derra IV."  
  
"What makes you so certain that he's still on the planet?" she asked.  
  
Rotulle grinned. "I bought the ship from him for five-thousand credits," he replied. "So, unless he had a bank account somewhere, stole some money from someone or stole another ship, there's no one on this side of the galaxy that would take him off-planet for such a low price." The smuggler spread his hands. "He'd be stranded."  
  
Mara considered for a moment. Rotulle did have a point. With anyone else, she wouldn't have counted on their moral sensibilities to keep them in a place hazardous to their health, but Luke Skywalker possessed a strange sense of ethics and a powerful sense of right and wrong.  
  
"You paid only five-thousand for that ship?" she asked. "And he took you up on it?" He had no friends to call on for funds or assistance, except for the members of the Rebel Alliance. But, according to all reports, he had made no attempt to contact them in any way or even let them know that he was alive. It was almost admirable the way he tried to keep them out of this and keep them safe from danger, even when that danger was [i]him[/i]. No, she mused. Luke would not embezzle someone's funds or steal a person's ship. He would not manipulate innocent people in any way for his own personal gain, even though he possessed the power to do so.  
  
Rotulle shrugged and smiled. "I pegged that guy for an idiot the moment I met him. It probably never occurred to him to try to haggle the price, just as it probably never occurred to him to make himself scarce. In fact, I'm willing to place bets that he never even left Kraull. Really," he shrugged. "Can you blame me for taking advantage of someone like that?"  
  
Mara bristled, hoping belatedly that it didn't show that his comment offended her more than she would have cared to admit. "Thank you," she said coldly. "I believe that's all I need from you."  
  
And there it was: she had found him. After nearly eight weeks of searching, she held in her hand the power to destroy Skywalker's life forever, like she had wanted to do when the Emperor had ordered her seven months before.  
  
"Ma'am," the dark-haired intelligence officer murmured from where he'd been standing silently behind her. "Do you wish me to inform Lord Vader of the news?"  
  
Mara focused on him. "No, Captain." She straightened. "You have your men take care of our prisoner here," she nodded to Rotulle. "I will tell Lord Vader myself."  
  
*****  
  
Benjamin sat up at the kitchen counter on a chair not quite high enough for him, a look of concentration on his face as he ate his breakfast. His short legs, not quite touching the floor, swung cheerfully against the side of the cabinet with a rhythmic banging sound.  
  
"For crying out loud, Benjamin," Connah began, wiping her hands on her apron. "You're driving me out of my mind--please just eat."  
  
The boy stopped banging, and they both looked up to see Aram enter the small kitchen, stamping his boots and shaking his dripping parka over the clean floor. Connah chose not to notice. "So?" She asked. "Did you hear anything?"  
  
Her husband sighed, wiping the water dripping from his graying hair out of his eyes. "Several of the city's generators are out," he told her. "They're working to get them back on line as fast as they can. Spaceport traffic is congested and backed up about four hours, and schools are closed because of power outages." He came forward and kissed her hello. "Does that about sum it all up?"  
  
"You mean I don't have to go to school?" Benjamin brightened. "I can play today?"  
  
"I guess so," Connah nodded, seizing a rag and wiping the countertop as she eyed the weather, cold and dismal, outside the window. The rain had slackened off to a bare trickle, though the sky was still heavy with dark clouds, but the ground was littered with the carnage of the night's gale: garbage strewn across streets and lawns, felled tree branches and random pieces of debris. "I'm not sure what kind of day it will be for playing, though," she told him.  
  
"Can Luke take me to the playground today?" Benjamin asked.  
  
Connah shook her head. "Your uncle and Mr. Lars have work to do."  
  
"Yeah, and we'll have to go get that speeder this morning." Aram checked his chrono. "Speaking of Luke, where is he?"  
  
Connah continued scrubbing at the cabinets, wiping away invisible dirt. "Who knows?" She asked, a trace of unwarranted bitterness tingeing her voice. "He might not even be here anymore. The fact is, I will be surprised if we actually do ever see our speeder again. He's probably long gone with it by now."  
  
"I think Luke must be sleeping in," Benjamin piped helpfully. "'Cause I haven't seen him this morning."  
  
Aram looked from his wife to his nephew and sighed. "Benjamin, why don't you go knock on his door and wake Luke up for us, okay?"  
  
"Sure!" The boy bounded off his chair and out of the kitchen, banging the door shut behind him. Aram turned to his wife.  
  
"What would prompt you to think that Luke would do something like steal our speeder?" he asked.  
  
"The breakdown in the middle of the storm was timed conveniently, don't you think?" she raised a questioning eyebrow at him. "A good way to slip it away from us, hide it somewhere and get sympathy from us to boot."  
  
"You think he would trudge two hours in the freezing rain just for that?"  
  
"He could have stood under the downpour for two minutes to look like he did," she replied. "And if he were really stranded, why didn't he call or spend the night somewhere?"  
  
"If he were really stealing it, then why did he come back?" Aram retorted. He shook his head. "No, I cannot picture him doing such a thing."  
  
She leveled her gaze at him. "Does it seem so farfetched?" She asked. "Have you ever stopped to think about what you really know about this person?"  
  
"He's a hard worker," Aram reminded her. "A good worker. He's polite, courteous. Benjamin adores him like an older brother. Just what else would you have him be?"  
  
"All that could be an act," she pointed out. "He could be a criminal--a wanted fugitive for all we know."  
  
"I think you're getting a little bit carried away--"  
  
Connah shook her head. "I don't trust him," she said quietly. "I don't like his eyes. He's hiding something."  
  
"Well, we all are entitled to our secrets."  
  
"And you are far too trusting for your own good."  
  
"Don't worry," he assured her. "I'm a good judge of character."  
  
"Even if that character is in the process of constructing a weapon in the room above your shop?"  
  
He frowned. "A weapon?"  
  
She nodded. "I ran across it while cleaning the other day. It's built in a cylindrical casing with wires sticking out both ends. I don't think it's finished yet, but it looks like it could be a bomb of some sort."  
  
"So my employee is either going to steal my speeder or blow up my shop?" He asked.  
  
"Or both."  
  
*****  
  
"Come on, Luke!" Benjamin tugged impatiently at the Jedi's hand. "You have to see what the storm did-tons of stuff blew into our yard. Oh, and guess what--I don't have school today, so we can go play at the playground. Hurry! My uncle says he needs you to help him."  
  
Luke allowed himself to be led by the 7-year-old, nodding and smiling vaguely in response to the chattering boy. He felt generally like he had been run over by a Star Destroyer in the night. He was exhausted and had a fever. A dull throbbing was already forming in his temples for what promised to be a killer headache, and every limb felt as if they were dragging lead weights.  
  
Benjamin towed Luke into the kitchen, exclaiming triumphantly, "I found him! Here he is--I told him you needed him, Uncle Aram."  
  
The atmosphere of the kitchen suddenly changed as Luke entered, as if the couple had been discussing something and were suddenly interrupted. Aram turned, a belated smile coming to his kindly features, as Connah just shot Luke an unrecognizable look and began washing the cabinet tops.  
  
"Ah, Luke. I'm sorry for the rude awakening," the older man apologized. "I was thinking that now would be a good time to go and get the speeder."  
  
The Jedi nodded warily. "All right."  
  
"Did you want something to eat first?" Connah asked, turning, her glance begrudging a small amount of courtesy.  
  
Luke didn't meet her eyes. "No, thank you," he declined politely. "I'm not very hungry this morning." He did not miss the look she flashed her husband before turning back to the cabinets.  
  
"Well, then we'll be going," Aram announced, his voice breaking the unspoken tension in the room. "Be back soon."  
  
They stepped out, wordlessly, walking across the green lawn, the color of which seemed to be enhanced and vividly brightened by the recent moisture. The rain that was still falling was like a heavy mist that shrouded everything in a spider's web of water. The sky showed no signs of sunlight, but at least the wind had subsided.  
  
"That was a pretty fierce storm we had last night," Aram commented as they climbed into his speeder. This one was newer and sleeker and buffed a glossy black; their family vehicle.  
  
"Yes," Luke nodded. "Do you get those very often?"  
  
The older man chuckled as he started the engine. "Well, they are more prevalent this time of year. Oh, I forgot to ask you last night--were you able to fix the hotel's droids all right?"  
  
"Yes, it went fine," Luke said. "Took a little longer than I had expected, but it went fine." he leaned his head back on the rigid neck-rest. "I hadn't anticipated that I was so far from here or I would have walked back to the hotel and tried to call instead of trying to hike all night through a storm."  
  
"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help," Aram apologized. "That old speeder has been known to break down before."  
  
"It's okay."  
  
Aram glanced sidelong at the young man, noting how his features looked pale and strained. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You look sick or something."  
  
Luke nodded. "I'm fine," he answered. "Just a little tired."  
  
******  
  
She had told Vader that she would inform him immediately when there was any new information, and this certainly qualified, but the dark lord still had not been called.  
  
It had been several hours since Rotulle's interrogation, and Mara had found herself taking a walk through the historic parts of one of Caleight's old mining towns. She needed to report to Vader. This was important news that he needed to know.  
  
Still, she could not shake the unmistakable sense of dread that accompanied that task. She could not bring herself to do it. Why? What was wrong with her? That she felt sympathetic for Skywalker was unmistakable. The Emperor had promised the Jedi that an attempt to escape would warrant severe punishment. She did not wish that on him. She could not understand how Vader, as Luke's father, could wish that on him.  
  
Still, what was the Jedi to her? She needed to take care in forming attachments to people like Skywalker. Such things were dangerous weaknesses. She knew that after being captured, Skywalker was not likely to ever be the same again. Palpatine would most assuredly break him, mold him to use in the very manner that horrified and frightened the Jedi most: turn him in to an unrecognizable tool of the Dark Side.  
  
Mara kicked casually at a rock. She had once accused Luke of being delusional and stubborn for sticking to his pointless standard of the 'light side'. She hadn't understood his reasons or his determination. Now, however, she was beginning to see: It was the genuine goodness in him that was the light side. It was his searing conscience, his thought of others before himself. All these things were things she quietly admired about him, she realized. All of it came from the light side.  
  
Mara did not want to see Skywalker hurt. She did not want to see his soul and personality altered beyond recognition. All these things would happen if she turned in her report to Vader.  
  
The Emperor's Hand suddenly turned back to her ship, something purposeful now in her stride. It might take a week for her to get to Derra IV. She would have to set out immediately.  
  
Luke deserved something from her, even if it was only a friendly warning and the means of getting off-planet. And as for Vader, well, she wasn't above lying to the dark lord.  
  
********  
  
Do you want more??? Cuz I have more where that came from... 


	30. Chapter 30

Kay, Hi all. Here after another lengthy break, is some more story. As you might have already figured out, I am unskilled in the ways of getting Italics on ff.n, and too lazy to figure them out....so.. all the * * mark where someone's thinking. You probably figured that out already too. Well, enjoy and thanks for your patience and enthusiasm! ( Don't forget to write...  
  
T.  
  
*************  
  
*"No thanks--I don't drink." Luke set the tall, exotic-looking glass filled with a vile, light green liquid down upon the scratched tabletop. *  
  
*Han chuckled from where he sat slouched in the seat opposite him, casting an amused glance at Chewie. "Aw, what you mean is you're too scared to drink, kid." He looked at his copilot again. "Of course you could also be too young." They both laughed.*  
  
*Luke bristled and glared at the glass, not appreciating the fact that he was the object of their jokes. *  
  
*"But you're in luck, junior," the smuggler went on, still grinning. "It just so happens that this beverage is not alcoholic. It's made from the finest stuff in the galaxy. It's a health food." Solo leaned forward. "You're a big Alliance hero now, kid, what with the Death Star and everything--you need to start looking the part." He shot the younger man a knowing grin. "Just drink it--it won't hurt you."*  
  
*Luke could feel his face warm in embarrassment, but he didn't make a move to take the glass. Solo was beginning to lose his patience with his companion and before Luke could stop him, the smuggler was shouting across the cantina filled with pilots, "Hey! Wedge Antilles--get over here." *  
  
*The dark-haired X-wing pilot made it over to their table, a glass of something in his hand. "You called?" he asked, offering a slightly foolish- looking grin that suggested he was somewhat less than sober. *  
  
*"Yeah." Solo gestured to Luke. "Skywalker, here, he won't touch his drink, despite my attest of goodwill that it won't kill him. Go ahead-- tell him it's good." *  
  
*Wedge looked down at Luke's glass. "Is that a Corellian live wire?" *  
  
*"Yeah, it's great, huh?" *  
  
*"This stuff's a health food. Should be part of a guy's regular diet. Do you mind?" he asked Luke, taking the glass. Luke was only too happy to have it taken off his hands. Wedge took a long swallow of the green drink and set the half-empty glass back on the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's great stuff." *  
  
*"Exactly," Solo agreed. "See, kid, it's not bad." *  
  
*Luke looked dubiously from the glass in front of him, to the faces watching him expectantly. "Okay," he sighed. "Fine." *  
  
*Wedge clapped him on the back. "It will do you good," he informed his friend. *  
  
*Luke took the glass and eyed the frothy green drink. Then he shut his eyes and took a careful swallow. *  
  
*Liquid fire burned his tongue and throat, spreading to his whole face and nose and eyes. Luke choked, spewing his drink. His eyes were burning and tears were streaming down his face to complement his uncontrollable coughing. The remainder of the drink that managed to make it to his stomach burned all the way down. And all the while, the laughter of his friends echoed across the cantina. *  
  
Luke stopped working on the droid he was repairing and looked around the musty, empty repair shop, feeling his face warm in chagrin as he recalled that incident. He could still remember it vividly, despite the fact that it had happened over three years ago. Ever since the battle of Yavin, when Han began taking jobs from the Alliance, the smuggler had seemed to be on a goodwill project to culture the wet-behind-the-ears farm kid who was fresh off of a desert dust ball. His "help" had been the cause of a number of public humiliations for Luke.  
  
The sound of an approaching speeder coming nearer to the shop startled the Jedi out of his tired train of thought. He glanced at his wrist chrono. It was early in the afternoon--much sooner than the time Aram usually returned home. Maybe he'd finished early for once. Well, Luke was already running behind today, so an extra hand would help immensely.  
  
A few minutes passed, and Luke glanced at the shop's entryway. The door was just out of sight, around the corner. He waited reflexively to hear the sound his employer entering, but an odd sense of danger nagged at the back of his mind, worsening an already nagging headache. Luke frowned and got to his feet, peering out from the shop's high windows. He didn't see anything amiss. Was he just so tired now, that his senses were going haywire? * That's encouraging.*  
  
Luke sighed and grabbed an already filthy rag off the small table and wiped the grease off his hands. It couldn't hurt for him to take a look outside, just in case.  
  
He had just entered the shop's narrow entryway, about two meters from the door, when the dull sense of danger exploded into grating hostility, and belatedly, he could sense several distinct angry presences just outside the door. Luke barely had time to jerk his blaster from its holster when he heard a shot fired and the door suddenly blew inward with violent force.  
  
The Jedi jerked aside, out of the possible line of fire, and the first horrified thought racing through his mind was that the Empire had found him. Finally, the wait was over and the inevitable had come to pass. A moment later, however, his attackers came into view: There were six of them, all dressed alike--filthy black clothes, ratty, metallic blue/black hair. Each of the six sported scruffy, unshaven faces and a variety of deadly weapons, most of which Luke recognized as being illegal on most planets. Their searing, angry eyes were directed at Luke, who stood facing them, blaster ready in his hands, his muscles tense, ready to spring, his danger sense singing.  
  
"Drop the weapon if you value your life any," the first ravenhead snapped, waving a double-barreled Magnesen 14ZT blaster threateningly in Luke's direction.  
  
Luke shook his head, shuffling backward a step. There was only one door to the shop and the gang members were blocking it. Behind him were harmless, inert pieces of machinery and two rather high windows. Luke doubted that he would be able to make it to one of those before being shot first. He wished he had his lightsaber. "Look," he began, trying to project a calm into his voice that he did not particularly feel. "I don't know what this is all about, but maybe we can--"  
  
"Drop the weapon," the other man spat, his eyes hardening as he tightened his grip over the trigger.  
  
Luke's eyes flickered to his attackers. Six against one. Those weren't such foreign odds. But certainly he had a better chance against them if he kept his weapon.  
  
"All right," he replied, letting his voice and expression show that he intended to surrender to their threats. "I see your point." He let his shoulders slump in a show of resignation and stooped as if to set the blaster on the ground, feeling the hostile gazes of his six attackers bore into his skull.  
  
Surprise was the only thing on his side, but Luke took advantage of it: he swept up the blaster and blindly fired four random shots, vaguely hearing the surprised yelp of pain as one bolt struck the lead ravenhead in the leg. The room erupted into fire. A shot struck the sole of Luke's boot as the Jedi scrambled for cover. Another narrowly grazed his sleeve. He dived behind the cluttered wooden table, praying that the blocky droid perched in front of it would provide enough cover. His ears were ringing with the ZING of blaster bolts striking metal, and he fired blindly back, acutely aware that this could not go on for much longer than a few minutes before they either killed him or he killed one of them. Luke would prefer not to have another death on his conscience.  
  
He did not know what they could want from him. He had been very careful to keep to himself and not cause trouble by attracting attention to himself, except, of course, when he repaired that droid in the cantina. Were they trying to exact a price from his hide over that?  
  
A blaster bolt exploded against the side of the covering droid and shrapnel sprayed into the nearby wall and into Luke's left arm. He jerked back, too much adrenaline pumping through his system to feel pain, firing back to make them keep their heads down. Another bolt narrowly missed Luke's ear by a matter of centimeters.  
  
The sudden slam of the shop's door made the firefight freeze and the Jedi looked up, inexplicably going cold all over.  
  
"Luke?" Benjamin's voice called, oblivious to trouble as the boy marched into the shop.  
  
Luke straightened, his own danger suddenly forgotten. "Benjamin--No!"  
  
One of the ravenheads angrily snapped off a shot at Luke, forcing the Jedi to keep his head down. It was too late to do anything. Luke heard the surprised cry as one of the gang members seized Benjamin by the collar and hauled him into view, jerking the child toward him.  
  
Benjamin's eyes were wide with sudden confusion and fear and a sob escaped his small frame. The ravenhead shook him roughly. "Be quiet."  
  
"Luke?" Benjamin cried to the Jedi crouched behind the small table. "Help me--"  
  
"Shut up," the ravenhead snapped to the boy.  
  
Luke didn't move from where he was barely hidden from the trained blaster sights of the gang members. His weapon was on the floor and his fingers groped at it uselessly, his heart pounding. Why did Benjamin have to choose now, of all times, to come and bug Luke in the shop? These guys weren't right in the head--who could say what they would do? *And you would prefer not to have another death on your conscience. *  
  
The eyes of each member of the gang were shining with he gleam of the same idea, their attention now split between their intended prey and the little boy they now held captive.  
  
One of the ravenheads, his blaster still trained on Luke, took a step backwards towards Benjamin, his black eyes watching the Jedi carefully for a reaction.  
  
"Is the little boy a friend of yours?" He asked, smiling easily. Luke didn't answer. The man half-turned his head toward Benjamin. "You know this guy, kid?"  
  
Benjamin only stared, afraid, his eyes darting from the man's gun to Luke's half-hidden features and back again. The man holding him tightened his grip on the back of the boy's shirt.  
  
"I hafta-_I.." Benjamin swallowed. "I have to go home now."  
  
The ravenhead made a face. "You have to go home?" He looked at Luke again. "You want him to go home?"  
  
It sounded like a threat. Luke swallowed. "Let the boy go. He has nothing to do with this. If it's me you want, then come deal with me--just let him go."  
  
The man raised his eyebrows. "Slide the blaster across the floor."  
  
Luke hesitated for a fraction of a second. The ravenhead, with a sudden, malicious jerk, yanked his blaster around, purposefully putting it to the side of Benjamin's head, a tearful whimper coming from the terrified child. "Hand it over or I kill the kid."  
  
With those words, a sudden stab of panic shot through Luke. His vision seemed to tunnel with memories of his nightmares and reality that seemed to swarm together and swim up before his eyes. *I will never let myself care for anyone ever again.I don't want to see you hurt.You've betrayed us all.you killed him.it was your fault.your fault. *  
  
*Never let them be hurt. Never get close to anyone ever again. And you did anyway! Luke, how could you? *  
  
*You're so loyal. *  
  
*Your fault. your fault .your fault your fault. *  
  
The ramifications of Luke's sudden, flaring anger flickered across his mind briefly: his hiding place would be revealed to every Force-sensitive on this side of the galaxy. He would have to leave--but that was probably something he should have done several weeks ago. Anyway, what would happen later didn't matter--this was his fault, and he intended to fix it. So it was not quite unthinkingly that Luke called upon the Force: that shining, almost forgotten power that had lain dormant, suppressed and deliberately ignored in the back of his mind. He welcomed it like an old, familiar friend, and it seemed to fill his very being with light. He would not see an innocent, trusting little boy be hurt because of him, no matter how many Imperial henchmen there were poised to fall upon his newly revealed hiding place afterwards.  
  
A sudden, howling wind swept through the small repair shop, as Luke called upon the Force, seizing weapons and machinery. The ravenheads jerked in surprise as their blasters yanked free of their hands. Blue stun beams, fired from Luke's gun, lashed out like razor wires across the small shop, and within a matter of moments, six black-clad men lay unconscious on the floor.  
  
*******  
  
"Princess, are you all right?" General Rieekan whispered, leaning over to her.  
  
Leia looked up, pressing her hands against the flat tabletop to keep them from shaking. She blinked to clear her vision and tried to nod to Rieekan to show him that nothing was wrong. "Yes, I'm fine."  
  
But she wasn't exactly, although she couldn't have said what just happened. The oddest sensation had swept through her, strangely familiar, and yet utterly foreign. She could not have said what it was, but only that it reminded her of Luke. *Now you're being silly,* she chided herself. "Yes," she nodded to Rieekan again. "I'm okay."  
  
She shifted her gaze uncomfortably around the council meeting table to see if any others had seemed to notice the scene she'd nearly made. It didn't look as if anyone else had seen. Madine was still talking, and no one was looking at her. She stopped short at her husband's concerned gaze, eyeing her across the table. Leia tried to offer a smile, but his expression didn't change. He was worried for her, which was really nothing new. His over-protectiveness had worsened with her pregnancy. He was becoming as bad as Chewie and she'd told him so. Her husband had not reacted well to that comparison.  
  
She smiled reassuringly to him and mouthed, *I'm fine. *  
  
Solo didn't look convinced.  
  
***********************  
  
Mara Jade lay slumped half-asleep in the pilot's seat of her ship, the mottled, surreal scene of hyperspace casting an odd bluish light on the cockpit. In her lap, a datapad lay, forgotten, as she had drifted off.  
  
With a sudden gasp, she straightened, fully awake, green eyes wide as she stared into hyperspace as if trying to see through it. She'd had a vision of Luke Skywalker, dressed in the light gray of a mechanic's uniform, engaged in a brief, potent firefight. The Force swept around the Jedi as if someone had turned on a spotlight in a darkened room. For a long, startling moment, it was as though Mara were standing in the same place as Luke, seeing the same things as he saw. Everything about his whereabouts suddenly became abundantly clear and she instinctively knew the details of those thoughts were not her own. Her vision cleared and Mara was back in the cockpit of her ship, all trace of sleepiness gone from her mind.  
  
Nothing like that had ever happened to her before--not even when she received instructions or angry visions from Palpatine had anything been that vivid and realistic. It was unnerving. She stood shakily, not seeing the corrugated tunnel of hyperspace barreling past her vision. She knew where Luke was, but probably so did Vader and Palpatine as well. It didn't leave her with much time to warn him and help him escape.  
  
Mara shook her head and sat down again. What in the worlds had Skywalker just done?  
  
******  
  
"Benjamin--are you all right?" Luke picked his way over unconscious bodies and toppled furniture to kneel in front of the small boy, still standing rooted in place. Benjamin nodded, his eyes wary and cautious, scared of getting too close to Luke. The Jedi felt the blanket of familiar guilt that seemed to smother him and he eyed the oozing cut on the child's forehead where the ravenhead had struck him with the butt of the blaster. "It's okay," he assured the boy. "I won't let them hurt you again." *But you let them do it this time. *  
  
"Did they hurt YOU?" Benjamin asked timidly, swiping at the frightened tears smearing dirt on his grimy face.  
  
Luke shook his head. "No, they didn't hurt me. I'm fine."  
  
"You hands are all shaky."  
  
Luke eyed his hands, still gripping Benjamin's upper arms, and he tried to summon a laugh. "Yes they are," he agreed. "Imagine that." He ruffled the boy's hair and got to his feet. His knees felt like jelly.  
  
The shop door slammed and Luke tensed, but it was only Connah. "I thought I heard something--What happened?" she gasped, seeing the bodies of the gang members. She looked up at Luke and Benjamin, gasped a second time when she saw the gash on her nephew's forehead. She reached for him protectively and the boy sank into the arms of his aunt. Connah held him protectively away from Luke, her expression hardening into something that resembled accusation. "What is going on?"  
  
Luke straightened, the guilt multiplying as he saw the fear and mistrust in her eyes. He would leave here as soon as he possibly could--tomorrow if he could manage it. His decision to come here and work had been a mistake, and Benjamin had almost paid for it with his life. "I'll explain later," he answered. "But first, I think you had better call the authorities."  
  
*********************  
  
Captain Peyton was bent over a console on the bridge of the Imperial Star Destroyer Conquerer, impatiently barking orders at a technician, when the blast doors behind him opened with an ominous hiss. Without turning, Peyton could tell by the sudden hush that swept the bridge who had entered. Darth Vader strode evenly forward, the steady hiss of his mechanical breather sounding like a time bomb waiting to explode. His manner seemed particularly agitated.  
  
Peyton straightened in a hurry as the dark lord approached. Vader gestured impatiently at the viewport where the hypnotic scene of hyperspace roiled past. "Take us out of hyperspace immediately."  
  
Peyton frowned. "But my lord--" he blurted.  
  
"Immediately, Captain, or I shall have you demoted," Vader snapped, turning. He had precious little time to waste. Behind him, the faltering voice of the captain was meekly apologizing, and ordering the drop into realspace.  
  
Vader was angry. It was a miracle he'd managed to keep his temper in check this long, he just hoped no one tried to push his patience. He was angry, because, whether by accident or design, his ship was heading in the complete opposite direction from where, he'd just discovered, the presence of his son had lain hidden from him.  
  
It seemed too foolish a "mistake" on Mara Jade's part to be genuine, and the fact that she wasn't here--gone on some excuse about a brief errand for the Emperor--added to his suspicions that she had deliberately thrown the scent away from Luke so Vader could not find his son. If so, she would pay for her crimes later. And in the meantime, her efforts would be in vain.  
  
The viewports now revealed the blackness of normal space, showing to all aboard that they were suspended in the middle of nowhere. The crew seemed to wait expectantly for him to tell them what to do next.  
  
Vader handed a datapad to Captain Peyton. "I want you to set course to these coordinates." The numbers gave the location of a small planet called Derra IV. It would take almost three days to get there. But Luke was somewhere on that planet.  
  
"Yes sir," Peyton nodded.  
  
Vader stood watching for several moments. He wished to waste no time by contacting Palpatine personally through holo. He wanted to make the jump into hyperspace immediately. He would send a message to the Emperor.  
  
There was really no time to lose. Luke was almost in his grasp.  
  
****************************************** ****************************************  
  
DUN DUN DUN... 


	31. Chapter 31

S'more story cumin right up!  
  
I'd like to thank you all for reading and my school for giving me a long Christmas break, thereby enabling me to waste more of my time than ever before. All in favor of me getting a life, please manifest. Are there any opposed? Enjoy! ******** *********************** **********  
  
Han Solo had never been much of one for propriety, and since joining the Rebellion and marrying a princess, thereby becoming somewhat respectable, his habits of promptness hadn't improved. So, when he walked into a meeting a few minutes late, he didn't think very much of his tardiness until he saw the faces of the five people seated around the glossy conference table, their eyes on him as he entered. Solo frowned, wondering what was wrong. He looked questioningly at Leia, who was seated at the far end of the table, hopefully to receive a clue as to what was going on. She didn't look up at him.  
  
General Madine pushed his chair back and got to his feet, offering Han a pained smile, an expression which only deepened the lines around his eyes and mouth. "We're glad you could finally make it, General Solo."  
  
Han detected the faintest hint of impatience in the other's tone and forcibly pushed down his irritation. "Yeah, I'm sorry I'm late--we had some problems getting the compressors to work again. Lando's down there now, trying to.." He trailed off, feeling their eyes still fixed on him. Was he really that late?  
  
"Please have a seat, General," Mon Mothma said evenly.  
  
Wordlessly, Han sat down. An uncomfortable nagging feeling clawed at the pit of his stomach. Something seemed seriously wrong. "What's going on?" He asked, glancing again at Leia. Her face was the same color as her starched white jumpsuit She did not meet his eyes.  
  
Madine cleared his throat. "General Solo, just how well did you know Luke Skywalker after his interesting.incident on Bespin?"  
  
Han frowned. *What?* What was this all about? "Huh?" he asked, a little nonplussed. "Run that by me again?"  
  
Madine's patience was obviously wearing thin. He sighed, turning with his pocket light pointer to the blank projection table. "How well did you know Luke Skywalker after Bespin?" he repeated.  
  
Solo spread his hands, glancing down at table's reflection of the room. Why were they suddenly bringing this up? Luke had been dead for six months. Was this why Leia looked so tired and strained--these people had the nerve to revive the tragedy of her brother's death for her? Han suddenly felt his irritation level rise again. "Look--I don't know what the big idea is here, but--"  
  
"General, please just answer the question," Mon Mothma cut in quietly.  
  
Han sighed and shook his head. "I was in carbonite for six months after Bespin," he answered. "Luke changed a lot in that time, I guess. But I suppose facing down someone like Darth Vader would do that to a person. After that," he shrugged, feeling disconcerted the way their eyes never strayed from his face. "There wasn't much time before the battle at Endor." he trailed off uncomfortably. "Why. what's going on?"  
  
Madine cleared his throat, tapping his pointer against his hand. "A couple of hours ago, we received a message from an indisputable source placed rather high in Imperial hierarchy. The source intercepted and relayed to us an encoded communiqué sent from Darth Vader to the Emperor himself."  
  
Han shifted uncomfortably, the same uneasy sensation crawling up his spine. Why did he suddenly have a very bad feeling about this?  
  
Madine touched a button on the projection table and words scrolled up on the screen. Solo assumed this was the message. He squinted, leaning forward in his chair. He couldn't help but notice that the others still hadn't moved or made a sound. *Whatever's going on here, they already know.* The message was short. He read it, and then in disbelief read it again.  
  
EN ROUTE TO THE FOURTH PLANET OF THE DERRA SYSTEM. GOING THERE TO MEET SKYWALKER IMMEDIATELY. WILL AWAIT YOUR ORDERS.  
  
Han felt a numbing chill sweep through him as the rest of the room waited in silence. "What--where did this come from?" He stammered hoarsely, his gaze sweeping the room too fast to focus on any one of them. "Is this some kind of a sick joke or something?"  
  
"The information concerning the message is classified," Mon Mothma answered him evenly as if she were discussing dinner. "But we can assure you that it's genuine."  
  
Han felt the hairs of the back of his neck stand on end. "I mean, they're not talking about Luke--are they?" *And just how many other people in the galaxy by the name of Skywalker would be mentioned in a secret communication between Vader and Palpatine?* a small voice retorted. *Who else could it be?*  
  
Solo shook his head, feeling like he was floating in a dream. "But," he stammered again, "this is impossible. There must have been a mistake somewhere. Luke's dead."  
  
Madine casually tapped the light pointer against the palm of his hand. "Given the contents of this message, I would seriously ask you to consider otherwise."  
  
Han shook his head. "How? Luke's been dead for six months. I SAW his body in that shuttle crashed on Endor. Now you've captured a random snatch of message and he's suddenly alive?"  
  
Madine cleared his throat. "Actually, there have arisen some doubts concerning the identity of the man who was found in that shuttle."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
Madine focused his hard gaze on Solo. "I'm talking about the fact that the body found in the crashed ship was a decoy intended to lead us to believe that Luke Skywalker was dead. But now, given the contents of this message," he nodded to the projector. "We have considerable reason to doubt that he was killed on Endor."  
  
"What do you mean, reason to doubt?" Han demanded. "Does no one know for sure if that was Luke or not? Med crews didn't bother to do DNA tests--"  
  
"Given the number of casualties and injured we had at Endor, it was almost impossible for the medical teams to cover it all," Rieeken cut in quietly. "A good thirty percent of our dead and missing were never found and identified. Doing tests on one more body that had already been partially identified must have been just one more thing that was overlooked." He met Han's eyes briefly and then looked away. "No, no one is certain whether or not that was Luke."  
  
Madine nodded. "And now this communiqué is as good as proof--"  
  
"Couldn't this easily be a trap?" Han asked. "That your source might've gotten this message a little too easily because Vader wanted him to have it and now they're just camped out on Derra or whatever that planet is, waiting for the fleet to show up?"  
  
Ackbar bobbed his head, large eyes flickering. "This kind of subtlety is hardly Vader's style," he pointed out. "And the contents of the message hardly something that would bring in the entire fleet. It's genuine."  
  
Solo's head was reeling. The mention of the possibility of his friend being alive should have made him ecstatic, but he could not allow himself to hope. The looks the others exchanged only heightened his foreboding.  
  
"We, however, didn't have you come here just to establish the fact that Skywalker is alive," Madine said. "I am more concerned with the context in which the commander is mentioned in this message. And we thought that you, as a good friend of his, perhaps could help us come to some conclusions."  
  
Han glanced over at Leia again and saw her staring rigidly at the center of the glossy tabletop, her face very white. Rieekan, seated next to her, reached up and patted her hand kindly. Had they already peppered her with the same questions about Luke? Han wondered. She looked sick. Han himself was beginning to feel a little sick. Had Luke really been alive for the past six months and they had not known? The kid had been abandoned to the clutches of Palpatine and Vader while his friends had been oblivious to his plight.  
  
"Okay," he answered cautiously, facing Madine again. "Go ahead."  
  
"Well, I think the first question concerns Skywalker's whereabouts for the last six months." Madine began, pacing casually, still tapping the pointer against his hand. "The commander took an unauthorized leave of absence in the middle of a battle. According to reports, he deliberately sought out Darth Vader and surrendered. Hours later, the Death Star was destroyed and Skywalker purported to be dead." He raised his eyebrows, accusation practically leaching from his voice. "Where did he go, I wonder."  
  
Han felt his anger rise inside him again. "You would flat out accuse him of turning traitor on the Rebellion."  
  
"I am merely stating the facts," Madine said quietly.  
  
Solo shook his head in angry disbelief. "That he might have been a prisoner of the Empire for the last six months does not concern you."  
  
"This message," Madine pointed out, "does not imply that Skywalker is a prisoner of any sort."  
  
Han snorted. "And you're able to judge by three sentences exactly what his situation is?"  
  
"It sounds to me as if Skywalker himself does not want to be found by the Alliance," Madine went on, unfazed. "Why else would he deliberately lead us to believe that he was dead?"  
  
Han spread his hands again, tired of wading through these riddles. "This is ridiculous. If he didn't want to be found, surely it must be for a good reason."  
  
"Such as joining the Empire?" Madine suggested. "Like turning against one's beliefs for the money or power that the Emperor offered to him? He wouldn't be the first. I believe it's happened to Jedi before." He refolded his light pointer. "One is unfortunately like the next. It's probably best that the Emperor wiped the rest out years ago."  
  
If Han wouldn't be facing an immediate court-martial for his action, he would have slugged Madine in the face. As it was, he was impressed by his own self-control as he bit his lip to keep from insulting five generations of Madine's ancestry out loud.  
  
"General," Mon Mothma's voice cut in quietly, reprovingly. "I believe that is quite enough. You are finished, I believe."  
  
Madine nodded curtly and took his seat.  
  
Han flattened his palms against the tabletop, angrily studying the faces of the others in the room. Leia stared back at him, her dark brown eyes reflecting his emotions. Whatever the others could believe of Luke, she did not accuse him.  
  
"I can't believe these things you are charging him with," Han told them. "He has given the Alliance so much, and in turn, the Rebellion turns its back on him when he is possibly in most need of its help." He got to his feet, disgusted with this meeting. "Until you have proof, no one has any right to accuse him of these things."  
  
"And where would you suggest we get more proof?" Asked Madine icily. "The evidence speaks for itself."  
  
Han shook his head. "Somebody has to find out what's really going on here."  
  
"Are you volunteering for the job, General?" Mon Mothma asked pointedly.  
  
"Yes I'm volunteering for the job," Han answered. This was Luke they were talking about here. If he was alive, what were they doing wasting time discussing it in a meeting? "How fast can I have my ship outfitted and refueled?"  
  
"A crew can have it done within the hour," Rieekan said.  
  
"Fine."  
  
"So you'll be leaving immediately?"  
  
"Yes," Han nodded. He took the comment as a dismissal. He wasn't about to stay here any longer than he needed to. The others also rose to their feet, Leia shooting him a questioning look.  
  
"Good luck, general," Mon Mothma said, but Han was already turning to leave.  
  
*****  
  
"What did you know about this?"  
  
Leia shook her head. "Only what they could tell me in the few minutes before you arrived. I had no idea."  
  
Solo tossed his parka and an extra blaster into a compact travel bag sitting open on the bed. "I don't know what to think. You know?" He looked at her, seated tiredly on the corner of the bed. "It's taken me this long to adjust to the fact that he's gone. Now he's not only alive, but an enemy to boot. I can't buy that."  
  
"No," Leia murmured, her gaze fixed on the floor. "That's not the Luke we knew."  
  
"But?" Han asked, feeling suspicion creep up on him as he saw the haunted look return to her eyes. "Come on, sweetheart, talk to me."  
  
She looked up, her eyes flickering to his and back to the floor. Her shoulders were slumped and tense. "Well, it's just.I'm afraid.of what might have happened to him in that time."  
  
She licked her lips and swallowed. "I mean--we don't really know what the Emperor.or the Force is capable of."  
  
Had Madine gotten to her? Solo walked around to face her. "Leia, your brother is strong and more stubborn than he has a right to be. He'd pull through. Wouldn't he?"  
  
Her brows knit over her chocolate brown eyes, clouded and troubled as she regarded him again. "Do you know the nightmares I've had over these past months? Sometimes it was though I could just see his face or feel him calling out to me. I thought I was hallucinating and imagining things because I missed him." She shook her head, swiping at the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. "I don't know. I really don't know."  
  
Solo reached for her hand. "Well, we're going to find out," he said quietly.  
  
She nodded.  
  
Han kissed her hand and then shut the travel bag, picking it up. "The ship should be ready to go if you are."  
  
Leia nodded again, not answering.  
  
***************  
  
Chewie was waiting on the boarding ramp of the Falcon, his interrogative roar greeting them as they entered the hangar.  
  
Solo entered the ship, brushing past his copilot to the cockpit where he began flipping switches. Chewie barked demandingly. There had been a number of people fussing over the ship just minutes ago, and he had debated whether or not to dismember them. He wanted to know what was going on.  
  
Sighing, squeezing past the wookiee to the control panel, Han answered. "Luke is alive."  
  
Chewie's next roar was deafening. Han grimaced. He did not have time to answer questions right now. "We're leaving now to find him. He's supposedly on Derra IV. The trip shouldn't be too long."  
  
His copilot barked something and Solo shook his head. "Not this time pal. You've already promised to be part of a diplomatic convoy to Anroth. Believe me, I'd love to have you along, but I also think bringing a wookiee defeats the purpose of trying to keep a low profile."  
  
Chewie growled. "No, I'm not changing my mind and I don't have time to argue with you." Another bark. "Yes, it means we're leaving now."  
  
The familiar whine of the ship began building up around them and Chewie knew he should take his hint and leave before his friend threw him out. But still, he was unhappy about it.  
  
"Get details from General Madine," Han told the wookiee's retreating back. "I'm sure he'd love to fill you in." *And Madine can hope he doesn't get his arms ripped off. *  
  
***************************  
  
*****  
  
"Luke is gone." Aram Kelson smoothed back his thinning gray hair with a quiet sigh, eyeing Mara who was seated across the small table. "He left two nights ago, right after the fight."  
  
"The fight?" Mara echoed. Her eyes flicked around the homely, old-fashioned kitchen they were in. The man's wife stood at the doorway watching Mara with a suspicious expression that seemed natural to her features. Next to her stood a small boy--their nephew--who could not be more than seven years old. They watched her warily. Mara knew they distrusted her--could tell from the moment she appeared at their door.  
  
Kelson nodded heavily, brow furrowed into a concerned frown. "A half-dozen members of a gang stormed the shop while Luke was working. They're well- known and avoided in Kraull for a reason--there are some vicious people that affiliate with them. I don't know how Luke managed to get on their bad side, but." he trailed off. "All of them were armed. There was a brief firefight and somehow he held them all off. They took little Benjamin--"  
  
"They were going to shoot me!" the boy piped up with the excitement of a child with a story to tell. The stricken look of his aunt and uncle told the actual gravity of the situation.  
  
"Yes," Kelson nodded, still frowning, his eyes on Mara. "I still don't understand how he did it, but by the time I got there, all six of those men were out cold on the floor. He stunned them all."  
  
"Luke saved me," the little boy said again, hurriedly shushed by his aunt.  
  
Well that explained the tremendous disturbance she had felt in the Force, Mara reasoned. It made sense--it sounded like something Skywalker would do.  
  
"Do you have any idea where he is now?" she asked. "It's extremely important that I find him."  
  
Finding the Jedi, she had thought, would be the easy part. She had not figured into her plans extra time to search for him. Already it had taken her four hours to get this far--locating the house where Luke had been staying--only to meet with a dead end.  
  
Aram Kelson shook his head. "He did not breathe a word to anyone of his plans to go. He left only a datapad saying that an emergency forced him to leave. But that seemed a little out of character for him." He eyed Mara again. "I worry that he is in some sort of trouble."  
  
Mara nodded, but did not reply. "Is that all you know of his whereabouts?"  
  
Kelson nodded regretfully. "Yes. I'm sorry we can't be of more help."  
  
Mara was getting to her feet. "No, it's okay. Thank you."  
  
"Is there anything else we can do?"  
  
"No," Mara said quietly, shaking her head. "I don't think there is. Thank you for your help."  
  
*****  
  
She pulled away from the small dwelling in her black Moquet speeder, trying to sort things out in her mind, all too well aware that the more time it took to search for Skywalker, the closer Palpatine and Vader would come to capturing him. And she was stranded without a clue where to even start looking.  
  
*Of course he would have gone,* she told herself. *Why didn't you think of that? He's not stupid. He would have known they were coming for him. *  
  
The question was where could he be? Without a lot of money or transportation, a person wouldn't be able to get very far. And there was nothing outside the city of Kraull that wasn't a three week's walk in any direction.  
  
*Then he's got to be still in the city somewhere.* The problem with that solution was that Kraull was a pretty big town--full of seedy holes that offered the ideal place to get lost for a little while.  
  
Mara exhaled slowly, eyeing the blue sky as though she expected it to drop down on her at any moment. She did not know how long it would take Vader to get here, but she knew they were coming and she was beginning to feel a little desperate. If she was not careful, this could turn into a horrible mess. *I don't have a couple of days, Skywalker--barely even a couple of hours--so where are you?* she wondered silently.  
  
Nothing but her own turbulent thoughts answered her question. Mara gritted her teeth and stared straight ahead. There was nothing left to do but just start looking.  
  
***************8  
  
********** 


	32. Chapter 32

I knew you'd all probably hate me for leaving you hanging on the last chapter, so I decided to give you more. : ) Hope it helps. T.  
  
***************************** ****************************  
  
The answer to Mara's quiet dread came earlier than anticipated. It was early evening and she had combed almost every bar and hotel in the city, but had found no trace of Skywalker. So it was with a faint sense of defeat and a stomach tied in tight knots that, standing unnoticed at the dusty stone steps of an inn, she watched the all-too-familiar sight of Imperial shuttles and TIE fighters descending on the city like birds of prey. Vader must have been on the move much quicker than she had given him credit for.  
  
Mara bit her lip. The net was quickly closing despite her best efforts. She thought of her remaining search options and wondered fleetingly if it was possible that Skywalker was no longer here, but then dismissed the idea. Why would Imperials show up here if Vader could not detect his son nearby? And how else would SHE be able to feel the low-lying hum of his presence here? She resumed walking briskly to her speeder, determined not to be fazed by the arrival of Imperial troops. They did not know she was here and they would not find her.  
  
As she got in the speeder, she saw a message scroll across the console in red letters informing her unnecessarily that the spaceports were officially closed, effective immediately, by order of the Empire. All portals to the city were closed. No one without express authorization and a Z5R7 code would be permitted to enter or leave the city until further notice. The message began flashing again and Mara slapped it off.  
  
**************************  
  
The man finally came back to help him after Luke had been sitting at the desk nervously for the better part of an hour. He was in the office of a travel agent, hoping to keep a low profile while trying to locate some means of transportation away from Kraull. He'd been miserably plugging away at the job for two days now, looking almost frantically for something that he could afford. A ship was out of the question, of course. But at this point, even a speeder would do. He only knew that he had to get out of the town before disaster struck.  
  
Every bone in his body seemed to scream at him to get up, to keep from sitting still. *you can't stay here,* he thought. But he knew he had to. This agency seemed like his best bet so far. Even though his senses shouted for him to leave this place, he ignored them and fidgeted.  
  
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," the man apologized, smiling cordially. "We've just had a couple problems come up concerning your speeder rental."  
  
A tiny warning bell went off in the back of Luke's mind and he straightened. "What kind of problems?" she asked cautiously.  
  
The man shuffled some papers, apparently not too concerned. "Both spaceports and other entrances to the city have been shut down. We will not be authorized to rent out vehicles until they are re-opened."  
  
The warning bells got louder. It sounded to Luke like water was rushing past his ears, but Luke forced himself to keep his calm. "Shut down by who?" he asked. As if he needed to know.  
  
"A couple of Imperial taskforces," the man answered, entering something on his datapad.  
  
"I see." Luke struggled to keep his voice even despite the panic that rose instinctively in his throat. "Does this happen often?"  
  
The man looked up. "It's never happened before that I'm aware." He got to his feet, handing the datapad to Luke. "Incidentally, we're required to get the names and identification of everyone here who is looking for a transport. You will need to remain here for a couple of hours until."  
  
Luke heard no more. He was already on his feet, moving towards the door.  
  
"Excuse me," the man called after him. "Where do you think you're going?"  
  
"You don't know me," the Jedi said with a quick wave of his hand as he brushed past the other. "I was never here."  
  
"You were never here," repeated the perplexed voice behind him.  
  
Luke was walking briskly down the half-empty street a minute later. His heart was racing and his senses were on alert. The Empire had finally caught up with him and had backed him into a corner. It seemed like only a matter of time now. In such close proximity, he doubted his feeble shields would hide him from the Emperor for long.  
  
Finally, slowing at the corner of the sparsely crowded street, he came to a halt and leaned heavily against the durasteel wall, briefly shutting his eyes. It was almost like he half-expected the shriveled, dark figure of the Palpatine to materialize before him at any moment. The fact that he had not slept in over forty hours was obviously beginning to put a strain on his control. *Be calm,* he told himself firmly. *Think.*  
  
Unfortunately, there were very few options left to consider. He knew he had to get out of town. Renting a speeder seemed now out of the question. Aram Kelson would probably lend a speeder to Luke with no questions asked, but the Jedi wouldn't put the family in danger like that. His only remaining alternative was not an appealing one, but Luke was out of choices.  
  
***************  
  
"Oh, yes, I've seen him," the small alien woman insisted, turning the holocube of Luke's picture over in her stubby hands. She came only to Mara's shoulder and had a bright, oddly-shaped face with merry blue eyes. Handing the holo back to Mara, she moved about behind the little desk with ease. "He is staying in room 143."  
  
"You're quite sure," Mara said quietly, looking around the small lobby of the grimy hotel.  
  
"Oh, yes," the woman replied cheerfully. "I saw him yesterday. That's him."  
  
"Is he there now?" Mara asked. She wondered what the odds were that he would risk staying the same place two nights in a row. Could she afford to sit and wait for him to show up and hope he would?  
  
"No, I don't think he is right now."  
  
"Can you let me in to that room?" Mara asked.  
  
The alien woman looked uneasy. "Well.I don't really know. I'm not supposed to allow--"  
  
"This is extremely important," Mara informed her. "An emergency--possibly a matter of life and death."  
  
"Oh." The woman seemed taken aback. "I see.."  
  
Five minutes later, Mara opened the door to a small, darkened room. The narrow bed was neatly made and the room looked pristine and abandoned. Mara moved to the window and peered out from behind the slatted blinds. It was dark outside. How much longer would it be before the Imperials discovered she was here? Or did they already know? Palpatine's uncharacteristic silence and sluggishness worried her.  
  
Sighing, Mara turned to the slim brown travel case that was sitting inconspicuously on the desk. Hopefully Skywalker would be returning for his things.  
  
Carefully, she set the bag on the bed and opened it. There wasn't much: a change of clothes and a handful of credits. Underneath them, however, she found a small silver cylinder. Another lightsaber. She turned it in her hands. It was close to being identical with his last one. Skywalker certainly seemed to waste no time with these things. Mara depressed the small button on the grip, but nothing happened. She looked at it again and then dropped it back into the brown bag.  
  
With another sigh she turned back toward the darkened window and then dropped into a chair. As antsy and uneasy as she was, there was really nothing left for her to do but sit and wait and hope the Jedi returned.  
  
****** *************  
  
The air was thick with smoke that floated in a bluish-green haze over the crowd. The room was filled with smelly, unwashed bodies, packed as close together as possible and there was a pungent odor of a hundred different kinds of alcohol that made it difficult to breathe. The seedy bar reminded Luke of a cantina in Mos Eisely, only magnified by ten.  
  
He sat at a broken table in the corner, behind a vile-looking glass of green liquid that he wasn't about to touch, swallowing cautious lungs-ful of air, careful not to cough.  
  
Presently, a beefy alien approached Luke's table, gesturing sharply. Thick green scales grew from his skull and muscled arms. A shouldered rifle only added to his menacing appearance. "You come with me," he said, pointing roughly in the direction he had come.  
  
The Jedi nodded cautiously and got to his feet. He followed the alien through the crowd and through several doors. They walked down a dark, narrow hallway to a small, dimly lit office. Luke ignored the bad feeling forming a knot in the pit of his stomach and followed the alien's gesture for him to enter the office.  
  
Luke stepped in. A thin, sallow-looking man sat behind a large, ornate orowood desk, staring at the Jedi with small, beady eyes. "Sit down."  
  
Luke did so, swallowing, senses on alert for danger. So far, he could detect nothing amiss.  
  
"So you want a speeder."  
  
"Yes," Luke said quietly.  
  
The man arched an aristocratic brow. "You are aware, of course, that the Empire has shut down all ports of entry to the city and nobody can come and go just as they please."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Then you also realize that this risk will drive up my rates."  
  
Luke nodded. He only prayed that he had enough credits to pay whatever these pirates demanded. "Yes."  
  
"It's going to cost you somewhere around four thousand. All of it in advance."  
  
Clenching his fist under the desk, Luke refrained from protesting and only nodded. He had no other choice. "I can have the money to you within an hour," he answered. He'd have to return to his hotel to retrieve his things.  
  
The thin man nodded. "I'll have my man meet you near the abandoned Okamat warehouse in exactly one hour then. If you're not there within five minutes of that time, then the deal is off and you're out of luck."  
  
Luke nodded wearily. "I understand."  
  
**********************  
  
The inconspicuous route back to his hotel followed dark, narrow streets that were absent of all signs of life. The darkness of the moonless night was Luke's security though, adequately concealing him in the black shadows. Still, the Jedi kept all his senses on full alert, trying to "see" into the inky blackness ahead of him.  
  
The tension of his strained effort, mixing with the stress of the last several hours had seemed to turn all his muscles in to rigid knots, making his back and neck hurt, and bringing the onset of another headache. He told himself not to be so worried. There were many things that he'd faced in his life that were far worse than this. He was exhausted and apprehensive, but told himself not to be anxious. He had eluded his father and the Imperials before. And he would do it again.  
  
The front door of the hotel was lit by a feeble yellow light, vacant as the rest of the street. Senses extended, Luke cautiously stepped out of the safety of the shadows to the door. He silently made his way inside, and seeing no one, eased soundlessly up the narrow, dimly lit stairs.  
  
He opened the door to his room and eyed the small travel bag that was sitting on the bed. It was all he needed. Without bothering to turn on the lights, he stepped into the dark room toward the bed.  
  
A sudden surge of emotion halted him in his tracks. Belatedly, he recognized a presence that, in his haste, he had somehow overlooked. Indeed, he realized a moment later, not only was this person nearby, but actually in the same room with him. Now, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out the outline of her silhouette, seated in the chair. His muscles seemed to freeze in surprise and indecision, just as the figure in the chair moved and spoke.  
  
"Hello, Luke."  
  
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You probably hate me worse now, huh? *evil laugh*  
  
Anxiously awaiting your opinions. : ) T. 


	33. Chapter 33

Finally, here is another chapter-I'm so sorry for keeping you all in suspense! I didn't do it on purpose, I promise! As always, read and review-- and have a great day...  
  
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Skywalker jerked toward her like a strung bow, right hand instinctively reaching to his side for the blaster that Mara could see in the half darkness was not there. His mind caught up with him for a moment long enough for him to realize that it was her and that she was alone.  
  
"Mara?"  
  
She deliberately uncrossed her legs and rose from the sagging armchair, feeling his eyes watching her intently, suspicious and confused. "Yes," she replied quietly. "It's me."  
  
"What are you doing here--how'd you find me?"  
  
She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and eyed him. "You're not as good at hiding as you seem to think. As for what I'm doing here, it's a long story."  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
Mara bit down on her lip, swallowing her pride. She had no idea how he was about to take this. She--the woman who'd vowed to kill him--was offering her assistance. "Actually," she began, swallowing again, ".I came to help you get out of here."  
  
There was a long silence in which neither of them moved. How did she know that Skywalker wasn't going to look upon her proffered hand as one would the venomous end of a snake? Blatantly laughing in her face was perhaps the only reaction she should expect from him. The taut quiet seemed to have a sound of its own as she waited for him to do something. Finally Luke spoke.  
  
"Right," he murmured.  
  
"I'm serious."  
  
"So am I," he assured her, reaching for his travel bag without taking his eyes off her. "Just what does Palpatine take me for if he thinks I am going to fall for this? Where's the catch?"  
  
"There is no catch."  
  
"Come on Mara, where's this hidden squad of stormtroopers--or were you planning to be able to take me yourself?" His manner held a sort of weary cynicism that had not been there before, making him sound tired and irritated. "Why the subterfuge? Are you afraid of rousing the locals?"  
  
Mara set her teeth. "Skywalker, you are not listening to me. I am here to help."  
  
He paused for a moment, eyeing her. He then swung the bag over his shoulder and brushed past her. "If you'll excuse me please, I'm late for an appointment."  
  
"Luke, this place is swarming with Imperials," she snapped to his back. "Or haven't you noticed?"  
  
He spun on her. "Yeah. Thanks. I noticed. I thought that's why you were here--or aren't you an Imperial anymore?"  
  
That stung. Mara stiffened in anger, but pushed it to the back of her mind. The Jedi had a propensity for saying things that got on her nerves. That was all. She refused to entertain the thought that perhaps Skywalker was more right than he realized. This was not the time for them to fight.  
  
Since she had no answer to his cutting remark, Mara chose to ignore it. She was astounded at her own remarkable display of tolerance. "I have a speeder waiting about a block from here," she told him. "The spaceport is barricaded, but it shouldn't too difficult for us to get past the border patrols groundside. From there, we can make it to Kraell in a little less than eight hours." She paused, waiting for a reaction. Skywalker's expression was unreadable. "But," she went on, "if we don't hurry, it may be too late to do anything."  
  
Luke didn't answer. Perhaps he realized she was serious. "Why Kraell?" he asked finally, his voice losing a significant amount of the harshness that it had held a moment earlier.  
  
Mara arched an eyebrow. "Why not?" she countered. "It's as close as anything, but with one significant difference: Palpatine's not there looking for you."  
  
"What will happen once we get there?" he asked cautiously.  
  
She shot him a scornful look. "Need you ask? I can take care of any Imperial codes or authorizations we might have to deal with. We'll find a ship somewhere."  
  
Luke dropped his gaze to the carpet. "I see. So you are acting on your accord in this matter?"  
  
Mara lifted her chin. "Yes," she answered quietly.  
  
His glass-blue gaze met hers. Mara felt uncomfortably as if he could see right through her. "Would you mind if I asked why?"  
  
She looked away. "It's a long story--one I don't really have the time or the energy to tell at the moment. Perhaps another time."  
  
"Perhaps," he nodded, still watching her. "So Palpatine doesn't know."  
  
She shook her head. "No. Not yet, anyway."  
  
"How do you plan on explaining to him that you helped me escape?"  
  
"Listen, Skywalker," she began irritably, realizing uneasily that she had not considered the issue very thoroughly. "There won't *be* an escape if we don't stop talking and get moving. Vader and Palpatine *are* looking for you, you know."  
  
"I know," he answered. "That's why I think that maybe you should reconsider wanting to help me."  
  
She scowled. "Why?"  
  
He shook his head and set down his bag. "Do you want to spend the rest of your life as an outcast--constantly on the run and afraid of every shadow and corner?"  
  
Mara sighed impatiently. Why could they never agree on anything? She was beginning to grow tired of it. "I think you're overreacting."  
  
"Really?" he asked. "You think the Emperor is just going to slap your hands, tell you to behave yourself and then forget about it?"  
  
Of course he would be angry. She knew that. But she would be able to get through it. "What are you saying?" she asked tiredly.  
  
"I'm saying that you wouldn't be able to go back," he told her, lowering his voice. "Not after something like this. You would have to be on the run for the rest of your life."  
  
Mara stared at him. She shook her head. Palpatine had been angry with her before and she'd dealt with it fine. It was part of the job description. "That's ridiculous," she answered.  
  
"You think so?" he shot back.  
  
"Yes I think so," she snapped. "What would you know, anyway? I've been his Hand my whole life--I know what he would do."  
  
"Then I think you overestimate your importance to him," Luke replied.  
  
Mara's eyes narrowed angrily. "I think YOU overestimate YOUR importance to him," she snapped. "The only Jedi and Vader's son--maybe you should guard a little more carefully against inflating your ego."  
  
She saw Skywalker stiffen in anger, feeling the brief, white-hot flair of his temper before he forcibly suppressed it. "Mara--"  
  
"Don't you think I'm quite capable of making my own decisions?" she cut him off. "Having you tell me what I can and cannot do is the last thing I need- -I can take care of myself."  
  
Luke shook his head. "No. I don't think this is such a good idea. I'm not letting you get involved. I'll find my own way out of town." He moved toward the door again.  
  
"Sure," Mara called to his retreating back. "How? By using your extraordinary mind tricks on all of the perimeter guards? Don't you think THAT'S going to attract Palpatine's attention?"  
  
Luke spun on her. "Look," he snapped, his eyes appearing as angry liquid pools of aqua fire. "This is too dangerous. If we are caught, he will kill you for this. I do not want another person's blood on my hands--do you understand?"  
  
A brief twinge of fear flickered in Mara's stomach at the sight of his brief flash of molten anger, but evaporated as she watched those eyes quickly smolder into swimming gray reproof. Luke quickly glanced away, exhaling a trembling breath. Mara watched, not speaking.  
  
"I'll take the speeder," he said quietly. "Alone."  
  
She spread her hands. "Then how will you get off-planet?"  
  
"I'll manage something."  
  
Mara shook her head. "Skywalker--will you just face the facts? What are the odds that you will be able to get out of here without some sort of help? Pretty slim, don't you think? Have you given much thought to what the Emperor will do to you if you are captured again? Do you want the blood of hundreds or thousands on your hands instead of just one?"  
  
Luke was silent, staring intently at the floor. Mara watched him as he sighed again, with the air of almost pacing. She was just now noticing how startlingly thin he had become over the last two months, how weary and tired. His eyes were ringed with dark circles and his skin exhibited a grayish pallor that made him appear ill. She wondered what had happened to him over that time that had turned him into such a wreck. She probably didn't want to know.  
  
When he finally looked up, she saw that his expression was one of defeat. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Okay, you win," he told her without meeting her eyes. "We don't have any more time to waste."  
  
"I know," Mara agreed quickly, feeling relieved that they'd finally settled on something. "Let's get out of here."  
  
********** ****************  
  
Vader stood very still, watching Derra IV from the sinister quiet of the throne room. The small planet hung in the blackness of space like a marionette on invisible strings, covered in a soft cotton swirl of cloud cover. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the captivating sight. His son was down there on the surface somewhere. He could feel the boy's presence--albeit vaguely--but it was doubtlessly Luke.  
  
Vader allowed himself a small sigh, almost not caring if the sound was audible to Palpatine. He wondered impatiently when he would be allowed to go down to the surface and take over the job of searching for the boy. It was not a task to be handed to a squad of incompetent stormtroopers.  
  
"You must have patience, Lord Vader," Palpatine's voice reproved mildly behind him. The dark lord grimaced and turned to face his master. The wizened Emperor sat in the thick shadows watching Vader keenly from the cowl of his black robe. The dark lord ought to have expected that his master wouldn't trust him enough to finish his mission on his own, and had personally taken over Vader's assignment when he learned of Luke's whereabouts.  
  
"We will capture young Skywalker in due time," the Emperor's grating voice assured him. "But first, we must be patient for everything to come to pass as I have foreseen it. Skywalker will not escape us."  
  
What his master was waiting for, Vader didn't know. It seemed to him that their opportunity would be slipping away if they didn't hurry. Wisely, though, he chose not to answer or protest as he turned back to face the viewport.  
  
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	34. Chapter 34

I decided to be nice and not leave you hanging.. :) Tarado.  
  
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The wide, flat landscape stretched out in front of the ultra bright lights of the speeding Mobquet, bare and empty for as far as the eye could see. The blackness of the night closed in quickly behind the sleek, dark vehicle as if allowing it secret, silent passage through the darkness.  
  
Mara sighed, pressing her head into the back of the tall seat in an effort to stretch her arms and legs as far as the cramped confines of the chair permitted. She'd been sitting for only three hours, but the combination of tension and boredom made time stretch to the point that it felt like days instead. On the console, the flashing white blip on the faintly blue glowing screen of the navigator gave the only sign that they were making progress in the right direction. Otherwise, Mara would have sworn they were driving in circles.  
  
Silence, her usually long-suffering companion, seemed heavy, pressing in on her. There were no sounds save for the faint, seamless hum of the vehicle and Luke's even breathing coming from where he lay, asleep, in the back seat. Cautiously, Mara glanced back at him. She'd suggested to him earlier that he should try and get some rest. They had a long journey ahead of them, and there was no point in both of them staying awake. Reluctantly, Luke had consented on the condition that she would wake him in a couple of hours. *A couple of hours, my foot,* Mara thought sourly, still eyeing the Jedi. A couple of days was more like it. He looked as though he hadn't slept in a week.  
  
Mara stretched again, slapping a button on her console. A readout appeared in bright blue, outlining their trajectory. They were still a good distance from Kraell. Sensors revealed no sign of people or ships in the immediate vicinity. *No Star Destroyers or TIEs, and that's all you care about,* she told herself. She sighed again, wondering darkly what impulsive power had possessed her to jeopardize her life and livelihood to help Skywalker.  
  
A stifled moan behind her interrupted Mara's musings. She glanced back at Luke once again, frowning. The Jedi's brow was creased in a frown and the eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids. His features looked strained and troubled, as if the worries and problems he faced still plagued him in sleep. Mara looked down at the console, stiffening slightly. *You have nightmares, Skywalker?* she wondered silently.  
  
Somehow it seemed wrong for her to see him that way--as if she'd stumbled on to a dark secret she was not supposed to know. Mara wasn't quite sure what she had expected to find when she met him again, but somehow felt unprepared for the subtle way his temperament and personality had changed over the past two months. She wondered what had happened to him in that time that could mark his features so empty and lifeless and turn his eyes into crystal pools of dark, hidden pain.  
  
*Some people are haunted by their own demons.*  
  
She glanced back at him again. A thin line of perspiration stood out on his forehead and upper lip, plastering damp strands of hair to his forehead and giving his features a wax-like sheen. Luke certainly seemed to be a person who possessed more than his share of demons.  
  
She wondered if she was actually to terms with the fact that she was turning herself into an outcast for the sake of seeing Skywalker to safety. Three months ago, the thought of doing something like this would be shoved aside as treasonous, suicidal and stupid. Now here she was: doing it. But it had to be done. And if no one else--not even his friends--were going to come to the Jedi's aide, then the job fell to her. The thought of what Palpatine would do if he ever got his hands on Luke again was sickening. Mara knew: she'd seen it, heard tales, and been indoctrinated with stories of it before. She felt somehow that she had a responsibility to see that it did not happen again. Maybe she was going against the wishes of her master, but she also had to live with herself.  
  
Besides, something she would not admit to anyone--barely even herself--was that she admired Skywalker for his tenacity and his nerve. She had never met anyone else like him, and though at times she considered his actions and attachments to his friends stupid, she quietly respected him for it.  
  
Behind her, Luke began to toss restlessly against the seat, gripping the thin blanket around his shoulders in a white-knuckled fist, muttering something that Mara couldn't understand. She turned around, biting her lip, feeling concern inch into her mind. She'd told Skywalker she'd let him sleep--Force knew he needed it--but she hadn't really counted on him doing something like this.  
  
"No," Luke whispered hoarsely, shaking his head against the arm of the seat. His features had turned a new shade of waxen gray. His expression was one of blank, hollow despair, seeing things that were only visible to him. "No." he repeated, his voice rising in volume. "Leia no." He jerked, glazed eyes snapping open and staring sightlessly through Mara.  
  
Mara felt a stab of fear, seeing his empty eyes gaze back at her, knowing he was still in the grip of this nightmare. "Skywalker--wake up." She shook his shoulder. He did not respond.  
  
"You can't," his voice pleaded. "No."  
  
"Luke, wake up!" Fear churning unnervingly in her gut, she took her half- full bottle of drinking water and doused it in his face.  
  
The Jedi's thrashing suddenly ceased. Luke went limp against the seat for a moment before life returned to his eyes. He took a deep breath as recognition suddenly changed his features.  
  
"Mara?" He whispered.  
  
"Yeah," she nodded, pursing her lips. "Are you okay?"  
  
He shut his eyes briefly and then pressed a trembling hand to his eyes, wiping away the icy water. Mara watched him with concern. "I'm fine now," he answered hoarsely. "Thanks."  
  
She wasn't convinced. "Do you have nightmares like this often, Skywalker?"  
  
Luke didn't answer as he pulled himself up into a more-or-less sitting position. His hands were shaking. Exhaling a ragged breath, he raked his fingers through disheveled hair and shut his eyes tightly as if to shut out the images that still plagued his vision.  
  
"You sure you're all right?" Mara asked again.  
  
He nodded again, swallowing. "I'm sorry. Going to sleep was a mistake."  
  
Mara eyed him as he cautiously climbed to the front seat of the Mobquet and pulled the thin emergency blanket around his shoulders. The speeder was silent once again. Without asking questions, she settled into her seat to gaze again at the dark landscape beyond. Briefly, she checked the autopilot and the navigator and surreptitiously cast a sideways glance at Luke. He leaned back in his seat in an exhausted sort of slump, staring listlessly at nothing. The glow of the navigator cast his face a pale, sickly shade of blue, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes. She turned away.  
  
"How far are we from Kraell?" Luke asked quietly, turning to look at her.  
  
As Mara once again regarded his eyes, she was struck by the foreboding sense of dread that suddenly gripped her. "Five hours," she answered hesitantly. "What's.wrong?"  
  
He just shook his head and looked away. "It's nothing."  
  
Still frowning, Mara dug under her seat for the survival kit and managed to muscle it up to her lap. "Water?" she asked, handing him a small bottle.  
  
Luke accepted it gratefully.  
  
"Feel any better?" Mara asked as she watched him take a long swallow.  
  
He nodded, trying to smile. "Already," he answered. "Thanks."  
  
"My pleasure," Mara murmured, rifling through the bag again. "There are a couple of other things in here if you want them." She held a couple of packets. "Painkillers, nutrient pills.sleeping pills."  
  
Luke threw her a glance and shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks." He took another drink of water. "I have five hours to catch up on sleep--not a week."  
  
Mara shrugged. "Point taken," she conceded. "I would definitely have to raise my rates if I had to carry your unconscious body to the ship."  
  
Luke spread his hands, a faint smile coming to his features, momentarily replacing the dark pain in his eyes. "It's too bad I don't have enough money to spare for that."  
  
"Don't push it, Skywalker," Mara growled, trying her best to feel annoyed, but failing. "I'm doing you a favor as it is."  
  
His expression sobered. "Yes," he nodded, glancing up at her. "And I never thanked you for your help."  
  
"Forget it," she replied, brushing him off. "It's not a problem."  
  
Mara could feel his eyes still on her face and she shifted uncomfortably, pretending she didn't notice.  
  
She had a feeling that this was going to be a long, awkward five hours.  
  
**************  
  
In the thick darkness of night on Derra IV, two white Lambda-class Imperial shuttles descended, unnoticed, toward the darkened town of Kraell. In the shadow of the early morning, no one took note of the two ships as they landed. No one really paid attention as, with the hiss of repulsors, the shuttles' ramps lowered. Preceded by white-armored soldiers, two dark figures emerged from the ships, shrouded by black shadows and equally ill intentions.  
  
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I welcome comments, suggestions, ideas, complaints and chocolate. :) ************************************** 


	35. Chapter 35

Hey people! Sorry to keep you waiting-but between school, work, stress, and planning a four-month excursion to Europe, this fell by the wayside. Thanks for sticking with, and hope this helps!  
  
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"They've been looking for you, you know."  
  
"I know." Luke stared at the unopened ration bar in his hands. "I knew they would be." He looked up at her. "And you got placed in charge of the team that would find me, didn't you?"  
  
Mara shrugged. "I was teamed up with Vader for Palpatine's own amusement. I think he thought we would kill each other."  
  
Luke smiled. "And did you?"  
  
Mara snorted. "Nearly," she answered. "But not quite. I did my best to endure it." She shrugged. "It was my punishment for allowing you to escape from the Conqueror. That, and I guess it was something to entertain the Emperor while he waited for you to be found."  
  
"I take it that Vader got cut out of planning this little excursion," he murmured, indicating the speeder. He glanced sidelong at her. "Are you helping me just to spite him?"  
  
She shifted uncomfortably, shrugging her shoulders. "Well.Not exactly. Though I have to admit, it was kind of an added perk."  
  
Skywalker smiled thinly at the console. "I don't imagine that he's too happy with you at the moment."  
  
Mara shook her head. "No, I don't imagine so. But I don't really care either." She eyed him. "He has had an unhealthy obsession with finding you for the past several years. I think that maybe it has overridden his common sense."  
  
Luke nodded. "I think you may be right. Or perhaps familial ties don't mean to him what I thought they should." His eyes cut to the floor. "Perhaps I was wrong about him."  
  
Mara didn't answer. But Skywalker seemed too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice.  
  
"So is THAT what made you change your mind?" he asked, turning to regard her again with those startlingly blue eyes.  
  
Mara glanced down at her hands, feeling her face warm in chagrin. "Call it an attack of conscience, I guess," she murmured. Four months ago, she would have labeled it as stupidity, a weakness that would need to be eliminated as soon as possible. Perhaps it was. But something had changed. She wondered where it was down the line she'd discovered that compassion was not a frailty.  
  
"I'm probably going to regret it, but it's too late to turn back now."  
  
Luke nodded, not speaking.  
  
"So, if I'm allowed to ask, what in the worlds brought you to Derra IV anyway?" Mara changed the subject, taking a cautious bite out of her ration bar.  
  
Skywalker grimaced, avoiding her eyes. "I had no intention of staying here for long. But.circumstances changed and I was left with no other choice for the time being."  
  
"Cheated out of a perfectly good ship, huh?" Mara asked. Once again, she could feel the Jedi's eyes on her face. "You really should have a little more business savvy when it comes to dealing with pirates," she went on. "Or else they'll clean you out."  
  
"I know," he answered regretfully. "Unfortunately, it is one of those fields in which I have no experience."  
  
"Too bad."  
  
"Yes," he nodded. "Then perhaps things would have worked out better."  
  
There was something in the tone of his voice that set off warning bells in the back of Mara's mind. "What do you mean by that?" she asked him. "Things are working out just fine now."  
  
Luke's eyes flickered briefly to hers and then looked away. "Yeah," he said neutrally.  
  
Another silence ensued. Mara was quickly tiring of this trip--their edgy conversations and uneasy silences were beginning to grate on her nerves.  
  
She sighed, flicking her stony gaze to the console, which promptly informed her that there were still three hours to go. Perhaps it was her turn to take a nap. Skywalker had already volunteered to keep watch while she rested, but she'd declined.  
  
"Where are you going to go after this is all over?" Luke asked, jolting her from her thoughts.  
  
Mara looked up at him. "If we get out of here, you mean?" She eyed the dark, rain-splattered viewport, not waiting for a reply. "It's a good question, actually. I haven't really thought that far ahead. Maybe I'll join a group of smugglers or wait tables in a seedy bar."  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Skywalker wince at that idea. "Or maybe not," she amended with a short laugh, still eyeing him. "The most likely possibility is that I will return to Palpatine, endure a humiliating demotion, and throw myself back into his service."  
  
"There's still time to back out," Luke offered quietly. Mara shook her head.  
  
"No. I've made my decision."  
  
She glanced over at him. "What about you?" she asked. "Will you return to the Rebel Alliance?"  
  
Skywalker shook his head. "They still think I'm dead," he murmured. "Things are better off that way."  
  
"Are they really?" she asked.  
  
He didn't reply.  
  
Mara shook her head. "Well, if this is what two months does to you, I'd hate to see you in two years."  
  
"I'll survive," he told her quietly.  
  
"I'll bet." She took another bite of her tasteless ration bar and went back to glaring at the viewport.  
  
***********************  
  
Han checked the sensors and readouts as he flopped into the Falcon's pilot seat. Leia was already sitting in the copilot's chair, strapping herself in, scowling at the console. Watching the counter, Han shot a quick glance at his wife. "You ready, sweetheart?"  
  
She nodded, favoring him with a wan smile. "Whenever you are."  
  
Solo chewed his lip. It had been nice for them to spend a little time alone. It would have been a nicer trip had they been able to relax a little bit. Instead, the journey had been filled with nervous, unspoken anxiety. Han reflected that few things could be as bad as knowing that a friend was in trouble and not being able to do anything about it. Chalk waiting up as one more thing he disliked about hyperspace travel.  
  
The numbers finally counted down to zero. Grasping the hyperspace levers firmly in his hand, Solo pulled the ship back into normal space. White streaks of stars shrank down to distant pinpoints of light. And in the center of his field of vision--looking in no way out of the ordinary--was a small planet.  
  
"Well, here it is," he muttered, eyeing his wife again. "Derra IV. Where do we go from here?"  
  
Leia was staring as if hypnotized at the scene before her.  
  
"Well?" Han asked.  
  
She shook her head, eyes darting toward Han and back again. "I don't know." Solo raised his eyebrows. "Get closer to the surface, and I'll probably be able to tell you more."  
  
"If you say so." He raised his eyebrows dubiously, taking the controls. "Can you sense him anywhere?"  
  
Leia frowned, the expression creasing her ivory sculpted features. "I.I'm not sure yet. Just give me a few minutes. There's a city bearing 0938-- how close can you get to it?"  
  
Solo scowled. "Not very. Cities usually try to discourage ships from flying directly overhead." He glanced at his scopes. "Still.let's see what we can do."  
  
**************************  
  
Skywalker seemed unaware that he was hunched in his seat, one hand pressed to his mouth, staring, unseeing, at the console.  
  
After he had been sitting that way for almost five minutes, Mara peered at him, wondering if he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. "Is there something wrong?"  
  
He jolted, looking shaken. "What?" he asked, stiffening as he tore his gaze away from the console. His blue eyes were dark with apprehension.  
  
"I asked what's wrong," Mara repeated, feeling a creepy sensation crawl up her back.  
  
Skywalker swallowed as he stared at the viewport again. "I think she's here."  
  
Mara glanced around, wondering what on Coruscant he was talking about. "Huh?" she asked. "Who's here?"  
  
Luke shook his head as he faced her again, shutting his eyes. His expression was one of anger and self-disgust. "When I used the Force back in Kraull.you felt it, right?"  
  
Mara snorted. "How could I not have?" she retorted. "I think every Force- sensitive on this side of the galaxy could feel it. You woke me from a sound sleep."  
  
He nodded miserably. "Why didn't I think of that?"  
  
Mara sighed impatiently. "You mind filling me in on what we're talking about here? I'm not following."  
  
Luke only put his head in his hands, staring blankly. "Stars, why didn't I think of it?" he repeated. "I was only worrying about Vader finding me. It never even occurred to me that--"  
  
"What are you talking about?" Mara demanded in exasperation.  
  
Luke blinked at her, as if suddenly noticing she was there. He seemed too preoccupied to notice that he'd started a conversation somewhere in the middle.  
  
"Leia is here."  
  
********************  
  
"I think I found him."  
  
Han glanced over to see Leia's features still creased in concentration. "Where do we go?" he asked.  
  
She chewed her lip. "I'm not very good at this--It's a little vague." She keyed a readout, scanning it quickly. "Can we land somewhere in here?"  
  
Solo scowled at his scopes. "The nearest spaceport..is a place called Kraell." He shot a glance at her. "Sound good?"  
  
"It's a start," she nodded, gripping the edge of her seat with white hands. "I guess we can go from there."  
  
Han grunted something and started forward. If they were lucky, maybe they could find Luke in a couple of hours and get this whole thing straightened out and be on their way.  
  
*Right,* sneered a voice in his head. *When in your life have you ever been that lucky?*  
  
******* 


	36. Chapter 36

************* ****************** ****************  
  
Mara pulled the Mobquet into a darkened alleyway behind the spaceport and shut it off. The rain was still battering the viewport. "Get your stuff together," she muttered, shouldering the survival pack. "Let's do this as quickly as possible."  
  
Luke exited the speeder into the rain without reply, pulling on the hood of his parka as icy rain slid down his face and the back of his neck. He could feel Leia's presence so close now. They were here, in this town. Nature had a cruel sense of humor, he reflected tiredly, to throw his friends in harm's way after everything he had done to avoid such a situation. Or perhaps it was the will of the Force that he talk to them and warn them himself. Regardless, he was going to do it.  
  
**************  
  
The rain had started up again in full force. Mara sat in the hard, uncomfortable chair, trying not to show how uneasy she was by fidgeting. Luke was not so successful, however. He shifted in his chair, drummed his fingers, and glanced around the room apprehensively. The man behind the desk, drawing up the necessary paperwork, was beginning to notice. Mara speared Skywalker with a warning glare that the Jedi barely acknowledged. His sense in the Force was like a pacing time bomb.  
  
She hoped Vader and Palpatine were keeping this search for Skywalker rather quiet and had not included the help of the local townspeople, because Luke was not doing a very good job at being inconspicuous.  
  
"These are the codes necessary to get you into the ship," the man was saying, sliding two datacards across the desk to Mara. "Everything else should be in order."  
  
He got to his feet, pocketing his credit chips. Mara took it as a cue to stand as well, taking the data cards. There was one window in the cramped little office, covered with a dark shade. Even so, she could still hear the spattering of the rain. "Bay 22 is in that direction," he pointed vaguely. "You shouldn't have any problems." Mara nodded curtly, thanked the man, and followed Skywalker out the door.  
  
"Next time would you mind trying to keep a low profile?" she asked him in irritation, pulling her parka closer around her. "If the Emperor had put an open price on your head, we'd be in Imperial custody by now."  
  
But Luke wasn't listening. He turned to her. "Han and Leia are here," he said quietly, nodding past the spaceport's security fence toward a rather festive-looking cantina. "In that building. I'm sure of it."  
  
Mara opened her mouth to speak, shaking her head. "We don't have time for a family reunion, Skywalker--if you want to be able to get out of here, then we have to leave now--"  
  
"The Empire is here somewhere, and they are in danger," Luke snapped with more fire than she expected. "I have to warn them. It won't take very long--I can meet you back at the ship."  
  
"Luke--"  
  
"Ten minutes," he cut her off. "That's all the time it's going to take. Get the ship ready--I'll be right back."  
  
With that, he turned, hand resting lightly on his blaster, and jogged--a dark shadow dressed entirely in black--into the filmy mist of the rain.  
  
Mara watched his departing back, feeling the warning ache of danger beneath her collar bone, and not knowing what to do. Of course she knew of Luke's loyalty to his friends, and should have expected nothing less than this from him. It would make sense for her, in order to save time, to go get the ship prepped. Then they would be able to take off as soon as he returned. But still, the Jedi had a penchant for getting himself into trouble. He might end up needing her help.  
  
Slipping her own blaster out of its sleeve holster, Mara started after him. She had gone three paces when she heard a step behind her and gasped, spinning around, blaster drawn.  
  
"Well, my dear," Emperor Palpatine said softly, stepping into the wan light in front of the black shadows, misty rain pouring down like a fog around them. His hand grasped his gnarled cane, digging it into the hard ground. His face and sense were hard and calm and angry all at once. "This is certainly an interesting surprise."  
  
********************  
  
"They said you could help us," Solo growled, eyeing the one-eyed Dyrro taking a seat across the small table from them. "We need information quickly."  
  
Leia fidgeted and glanced at her chrono as the alien made himself comfortable. It was almost 0400 hours, local time. A terrific time to be organizing a search party. "Well, my friend--just how quickly, is the question," the creature smiled. The expression was an ugly distortion of his scarred and wrinkled face. I'll assure you that my price goes up fast when I have to hurry."  
  
"We're looking for someone," Han said quietly. "Someone who we believe is, or has been recently, in this city."  
  
"Well there are a lot of people in this city," the Dyrro replied, scratching his head in irritation. "The more difficult it is to find this person, the more it's going to cost you."  
  
"They told me you were the best," Han reminded him. "We can pay you well."  
  
Leia glanced toward the door of the small cantina as it opened and a patron entered. Four in the morning was not the most popular time for people to frequent a bar. But still, there were more customers than she might have expected.  
  
Suddenly, she stiffened and did a double take of the man who had come in. He was of average height, wearing a dark tunic. His piercing blue eyes abruptly sent a stab of recognition through her.  
  
Leia gasped. It was suddenly as if she were hallucinating. "Han," she hissed, grasping her husband's arm, but not daring to tear her gaze from the apparition before her eyes. "I--I'm seeing things."  
  
"Leia, what--" the smuggler broke off from his conversation with the Dyrro. Following his wife's gaze, he suddenly set his drink down hard with a startled curse.  
  
Luke stood in the doorway of the cantina, fair hair falling over his forehead, stony blue eyes telling them urgently to follow. Then he ducked into the shadows again, up the stairs toward the door.  
  
"I--he wants us to follow him," Leia whispered, feeling numb with shock. He was really alive.  
  
But Han was already shoving his chair back and pulling her to her feet. "Come on!"  
  
**************************  
  
Luke stepped briskly into the shadows of the night, senses alert for danger. He needed a place where he could talk to Han and Leia in private. But he was also pressed for time. It would have to be quick.  
  
Behind him, he could hear the door opening as Han and Leia came out. "Luke?"  
  
He was about to step into view, about to call their names, to finally see and speak to the family he had missed so long.  
  
"Han--Leia?" An iron hand suddenly grasped his shoulder, yanking him back into the shadows. Luke gasped, stumbling to the ground in a tangle of black shadows and cloth, thrown off-balance into the waiting arms of his assailant. His first blind impulse was to reach for his blaster, but the gloved hands twisted both his arms behind him with frightening strength, driving him to his knees. The Jedi floundered against his attacker, hooking his right leg ineffectively against an armored calf. The sound of a mechanical breather, exhaling noisily, gave away the identity of his attacker  
  
"Luke!" It was Leia's voice. Then Han's cursing. Through the thudding of his own heart, Luke could hear booted feet against the pavement, and the rattle of guns against armor, and knew they must be surrounded by a dozen stormtroopers by now. He opened his mouth to shout a warning to them, but was silenced by the gloved fingers suddenly closing around his throat.  
  
"You will keep your silence, boy," a thick, all-too-well-remembered voice advised at Luke's side, as Vader shoved him back to his feet. The Emperor's presence was suddenly a sticky, dark spot in the Force, cloying and grasping. Luke wondered, through his shock and nausea, how he had not felt it. "Obey me or one of them dies. I don't really care which one. But perhaps you do."  
  
Light suddenly flooded the alleyway, blinding him, casting dark spots across his vision. Still, he tried to get his bearings, and see what was going on. Both Han and Leia were being prodded into a makeshift circle of stormtrooper guards, weapons confiscated, hands on their heads. Their sense in the Force was angry, shocked and confused.  
  
Palpatine stepped leisurely into the light, a twisted, gloating smile on his face as he regarded them. "Princess Leia," he said, offering a sarcastically cordial bow. "How nice it is that we could finally meet again after so many years."  
  
Luke felt sick. His sister back-stepped into the guard behind her. Her eyes full of a strange mixture of fear and loathing, flicking from her brother to the Emperor. Palpatine did not miss it. "Oh yes," he chuckled, half turning to regard Luke. "I don't believe you've met my young apprentice."  
  
Luke squeezed his fist against the leg of his jumpsuit to avoid reacting. He stared straight ahead, feeling his friends' confusion and hostility wash over him.  
  
"Monster," Leia spat angrily toward Palpatine. "What have you done to him!"  
  
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" the Emperor suggested pleasantly. "You believe him to be your friend, when the truth is he is no longer."  
  
Luke shut his ears against their words, stomach roiling. He'd really made a mess of things this time. If he had only listened to Mara and gone straight to the ship, they could have been driving for deep space about now. *Yeah. And leave Han and Leia to the Imperials. Perfect, Luke. You've got it all figured out.*  
  
It was too much to hope that Mara had jumped free. Luke knew she wouldn't have left without him. That knowledge both warmed and chilled him. His premonition that Palpatine would not dismiss her betrayal casually had been so strong. Was she lying hurt someplace, perhaps even dead?  
  
"You did your job well, my young apprentice," The Emperor was praising the Jedi gleefully, his eyes seeming to glow from the cowl of his robe as he saw the reactions of his prisoners. "I am most pleased with your work. The trap was flawlessly executed."  
  
Luke stood as rigid as a statue, immobile as stone, barely resisting the impulse to lash out, to fight back. But he kept his temper--didn't move, didn't react, didn't give any sign that he heard.  
  
"Luke?" Leia called to him. "What's going on?" Of course she wasn't sure what to believe. Well, it no longer really mattered. Luke would be part of the Empire soon enough anyway, wouldn't he?  
  
********************  
  
Mara felt her heart contract within her chest as she stood just out of sight in the shadows, two stormtroopers at her back. Their guns were trained on her in case she tried anything. Not that it mattered. Palpatine was more than adept at keeping her from causing any problems if she were tempted to. Her gaze went from Luke to his stunned friends. It was all too much for them to take in at once: Their mouths were half open in shock and growing disbelief. The man, Solo, stood instinctively between his wife and the Emperor, his eyes darting from the black-cowled terror to the apparition that looked exactly like his friend who had been dead over six months. Realization set into those dark, intelligent eyes, as the smuggler balled his fist in growing anger. "Luke!" the woman cried, not understanding why her brother would not answer her.  
  
"What's going on!" Solo demanded angrily, looking from Luke to Palpatine, seeming to forget that he was talking to the most feared man in the galaxy. The Emperor only chuckled. Luke raised his head to regard his friends. He would not speak--he couldn't. His face was expressionless, empty, except for the barely tightening of the muscles around his mouth. But then Mara saw his eyes and her stomach wrenched in sympathetic pain for him.  
  
"As you can see," Palpatine crowed. "He is on my side now."  
  
Suddenly, Solo was launching himself at the Emperor, arms outstretched like he would throttle the old man. "Why you slime-ridden son of--"  
  
He was clubbed in the back, courtesy of a blaster carbine, bringing him to the ground.  
  
"I never thought you would sink so low!" Han shouted angrily, wrestling his hands away from the cuffs two stormtroopers were attempting to clamp on his wrists. He was shouting to the air, but the words were directed at Luke. Mara saw the Jedi flinch, though his blue eyes looked empty.  
  
Solo bellowed a few more choice curses, muffled against the pavement where he was being pinned, before the lightning blue bolt of a stun beam silenced him. His body fell slack against the ground.  
  
The princess cried out with a sob of, "Han!" before a stormtrooper began dragging her off.  
  
Palpatine waved a papery white hand in the half-darkness. "Yes," he said quietly. "Take them away."  
  
Mara blinked at the line of the stun bolt traced across her vision. Skywalker hadn't moved, but she could see his tightly clenched fists and the rigid muscles in his neck and arms.  
  
When Solo and the princess had been taken out of sight, Palpatine turned slowly on Luke, his gleeful smile transformed into a cold, calm rage. Mara watched helplessly from the shadows, a lump of fear inexplicably rising in her throat.  
  
"What have you to say for yourself, my young Jedi?"  
  
Luke raised his eyes to the Emperor in hollow defeat. The flash of defiance was gone, his eyes and expression now empty and listless. "Nothing," he whispered tightly.  
  
Palpatine casually flicked his finger, just as the tingle of danger rose to a shout in Mara's mind. "Luke--watch out.!"  
  
Luke suddenly cried out, doubling over with a retching sob, clutching his stomach as he crumpled to the ground.  
  
"In case you thought your escape from me would go unpunished," the Emperor said coldly, watching with no emotion the figure curled up into a fetal position on the pavement. "I will make you wish you had never considered stepping out of the palace," He paced slowly toward the Jedi. "I warned you that if tried to escape again, your friends would suffer too."  
  
Crumpled in the dirt, his jaw clenched in rigid pain, Luke tried a feeble roll to face his attacker. "Don't you hurt them!" He gasped when he could speak again, struggling to push up on his elbow. "Leave them alone."  
  
Palpatine stood over the young man, his expression emotionless. "You had your chance, my young friend. Now all of you will pay the consequences of your foolish decision."  
  
Luke slumped to the dirt again, despair and self-reproach painfully apparent both on his features and through the Force.  
  
The Emperor's cold eyes darted to Mara. "I haven't forgotten your disobedience either, my dear." He extended his gaze to include Vader, holding that polished gaze for several heart stopping moments. Luke was still lying broken on the ground, his eyes tightly shut, his breathing coming in shallow gasps. Mara didn't dare to look at him.  
  
Finally, Palpatine turned to one of his guards. "Captain: take young Skywalker to my shuttle."  
  
************* ************  
  
Should that be the end?  
  
Just kidding. I know this is a killer place to leave off. But I didn't really do it on purpose. Well, maybe I did. But I still love to hear from you. :) 


	37. Chapter 37

Chapters are sporatic, I know. Really sorry. I am really really busy. BUT, I wouldn't leave you hanging. Please review—feedback always boosts my spirits. Thanks and enjoy. T.  
  
************************************  
  
All that Han could say for their living conditions was that the Imperials had not separated him from his wife. Aside from that, they had not gone out of their way to make his and Leia's cell fit for long-term occupancy.  
  
Only a couple of hours in the small, damp cell, the room's sole source of lighting-—dim orange glowlamps dangling like creature innards from the ceiling—-had rendered Solo's vision next to useless. The icy, impersonal chill of vacuum pervaded the small room, suggesting poorly insulated metal walls and the fact that they were somewhere in deep space—- hyperspace, if Han's ears served him correctly. According to the subtle thrum coming from deep within the bones of the ship, and Solo's fairly accurate sense of time, they had been in hyperspace for about fourteen hours. He wondered, his nerves raw from the tricks his imagination had been able to play on him, where they were going, what was in store for them at the end of this tunnel.  
  
The food was rotted. A tray had been shoved in a few hours before-—all of it unfit for human consumption. Solo wouldn't put it past the Imperials to drug the food for them. Unfortunately, they had to drink the water. But so far, neither he nor Leia had had any ill side-effects from the warm, bland recycled liquid.  
  
Han shifted slightly, sitting, leaning his head against the metal wall, elbows resting on his knees. It wasn't himself he was worried about. He'd been in worse situations, gotten out of bigger pickles than the one he was in presently. But Leia was a different matter entirely. The danger his wife was in twisted a knife of worry and helplessness in the pit of his stomach. Concern for her caused recurrent panic to creep at the coattails of his consciousness, sometimes overriding his common sense. Having himself in danger was one thing. But Leia was another matter entirely.  
  
"Hey," her quiet voice murmured from where she was laying on the cot. "Are you awake?"  
  
Solo craned his head to look up at her. She had been queasy for a few hours, but dismissed his concern, saying it was only morning sickness. Sitting half-propped against the wall, she still looked uncomfortable and ill. Han silently cursed Palpatine and Vader and Luke for making her suffer like this.  
  
"Yeah, I'm awake," he muttered, clenching his fists in balled-up frustration. "I'm awake."  
  
"You haven't said anything for a while—-I was wondering."  
  
Han shifted to face her, pressing his lips together and trying to get a clear picture of her in the bad light. "What's there to say, Sweetheart?"  
  
Leia reached for his hand and held it in her lap, lacing her fingers with his. "I don't know. Say something—-it doesn't really matter."  
  
"I'm hungry." He cocked his head up at her. "How was that?"  
  
"It's a start."  
  
"This is one of the first times I have ever found myself wishing for a ration bar."  
  
"Mm," she nodded. "Who would have thought." She laid her fingers over his. They were cold. "Han?"  
  
"Yeah, hon," Solo turned to face her, concern in his eyes.  
  
"I love you nerf-herder. No matter what happens. I just want you to know that."  
  
Solo swallowed a lump in his throat. He gave her cold hand a tight squeeze. "I love you too, sweetheart. We're gonna get out of here."  
  
"Don't make promises you can't keep," she murmured. Her tone of voice was neutral. Her brows were knit over stormy chocolate-brown eyes.  
  
Solo looked up at her, squeezing her hand again, wondering if perhaps she'd had a premonition he didn't know about. "I should have gone alone. I never should have gotten you into this."  
  
Leia shook her head. "No Han, it's not your fault. I still would have come—even knowing what I know now."  
  
"I never expected Madine to be right," Solo whispered. "And still, it's like getting kicked in the gut."  
  
"I know," Leia nodded, dropping her gaze. "I know."  
  
"Finding out that Luke joined those cronies is like having the kid dead all over again."  
  
Leia stared at their twined hands. "No," she whispered, eyes wide and empty. "I'd rather see him dead than allied with Vader. This is a hundred times worse."  
  
************  
  
She'd left strict instructions not to be disturbed by anyone save for the Emperor. The guards standing routinely outside her door knew to follow her orders and had done so. No one had bothered her for three days. Mara had spent most of the time in her quarters pacing, sitting, staring at her computer console, and feeling, for the most part, sick to her stomach. She could not stop her mind from racing, couldn't keep her imagination from conjuring up images and ideas to her mind.  
  
It disturbed her more that the Emperor had not called on her in three days. He'd never done that before. But there was a first time for everything, she supposed. Her initial instructions from him had been explicit enough: don't even think about going near the detention cell that housed Luke's friends and don't ask questions.  
  
She hadn't done either. At first it was in reaction to Luke's suspicions that Palpatine would kill Mara for aiding the Jedi's attempted escape. She didn't want to anger her master further than he was, for fear that she would be next, once he was finished with Luke.  
  
Luke... She flung the Jedi's name from her mind once more, getting to her feet and resuming her pacing. The last she'd seen of Skywalker had been as white armored troopers carried him mechanically to the dark, yawning mouth of Palpatine's shuttle. She had been able to feel the Jedi's despairing fear as if it were her own. But only minutes after that, as she was numbly being directed to the second shuttle, his presence, like a single light in a darkened room, winked out.  
  
They were still aboard the Conquerer, 30 hours away from Coruscant. Mara had gone as far as to locate the cell where Solo and the princess were, but nothing more. She didn't know where Luke was—-she had already scanned the prisoner listings to find that his name wasn't there. He wasn't being held in any of the detention blocks. For all she knew he was already dead.  
  
Restlessly, she dropped into a chair again, fists clenched, her gaze fixed on nothing. Maybe a long, hot shower would help. She could soak in a piping hot bath and then swallow enough sleeping pills to make her insensible for the next thirty hours. Yeah right. She leaned forward, shutting down the faint blue glow of her computer console.  
  
She jumped, startled, at the sound of the door to her quarters hissing open without announcement. The person who entered was definitely not the Emperor. Mara turned her chair to face the door.  
  
"What do you want, Vader?" The black silhouette of the dark lord strode forward, ignoring her tone. "Don't you know how to knock?"  
  
"I seem to have forgotten," was the scornful reply. He approached Mara as she got to her feet.  
  
"What do you want?" she repeated. She wasn't in the mood for his company or his orders. She wanted to be left alone.  
  
The Sith lord looked agitated and short-tempered, as if he was staring down a frightened deck officer who dared to defy him. "Why have you not answered my messages on the comm?" he demanded.  
  
Mara put her hands on her hips and flashed a glare. "Why have you been calling me?" she retorted. "I left orders that I wasn't to be disturbed. Can't you understand basic, or did you just kill both the guards and decide you could barge your way in here?"  
  
Vader looked perturbed. "Your guards are not dead. I came here to find out if you knew anything about the whereabouts of my son. And since you declined to answer my calls, I made the visit to—-"  
  
"I don't know where he is," Mara cut him off, turning to glare at the viewport. "I don't know anything about it."  
  
"Has the Emperor contacted you?" Vader rumbled. "Have you seen Luke?"  
  
Mara crossed her arms. "Palpatine has ignored me. He can choose not to need my help if he wishes. I don't know where Luke is. He might be dead for what I know." She glared at him again. "You're asking the wrong person."  
  
There was a silence as moved to the small kitchenette in her suite and poured herself a carafe of water. She downed the icy liquid in two quick swallows. Vader hadn't moved from where he'd been standing. She eyed him as she poured a second glass. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, barely managing to veil her sarcasm.  
  
Vader ignored her jibe and clasped his gloved hands together in front of him. It took little imagination for Mara to picture him wringing his hands. "Thank you, but no."  
  
"This is where your search has lead you," Mara murmured, taking another swallow and leaning tiredly against the high counter, not really caring anymore if she angered the dark lord or not. "Are you satisfied with what you've done to him?"  
  
Vader only crossed his arms, dark polished eyes boring into her skull. "Why did you help him try to get away?"  
  
Mara scowled. Did he need it spelled out for him? "I thought I might do him a favor and help him avoid the horrific nightmare he would live if ever he was recaptured by Palpatine," she answered.  
  
"He nearly escaped."  
  
"No thanks to you," she spat. "I hope you're happy."  
  
Vader stood next to the viewport, still not visibly reacting her taunts. Mara supposed she should be surprised he hadn't turned her into rancor fodder by now. A blacked gloved fist touched the thick, icy transparisteel that stood between them and the empty vacuum of space as if preparing to angrily strike the viewport. "You care for the boy," he said quietly.  
  
Mara stared at her own thin, white hands, tightly clutching the silver drink bulb. "Is that such an extraordinary concept?" she asked.  
  
"It is a weakness," he answered. "A weakness Palpatine could have you killed for."  
  
Mara eyed him. "A weakness I would think we both would share," she whispered.  
  
Vader turned to look at her again, the polished eyes and steady breathing revealing nothing. But his hands were clenched in fists at his side. "I am not so proud that I can't admit that I made a mistake in bringing Luke into this," he said quietly.  
  
Mara poured another glass of water. "It's too late for that. Admitting your mistakes is not going to help him."  
  
"It's a start."  
  
Mara didn't answer.  
  
"If you find out anything..." Vader began, turning back to the viewport.  
  
Mara tilted her head to one side, regarding him, contemplating vaguely the changes that seem to have occurred in him over the past several weeks. Surely Palpatine would have noticed it as well-—not much ever slipped past that putrid yellow gaze. It seemed neither of them was smart enough to realize or care about the danger they were in.  
  
"If I find out anything about him, you'll be the first to know," Mara told him, pouring the last of her water down the disposal drain. She eyed the dark lord. "But don't hold your breath."  
  
********* 


	38. Chapter 38

Palpatine's throne room was shrouded in silence and darkness. The massive windows, showing a striking view of the Coruscant skyline, were covered in acres of draped dark cloth, blocking out the light. Stone columns and balustrades loomed dark and menacing in the shadows cast by flickering sconces.  
  
Darth Vader entered, hearing his footsteps purposefully carrying him forward, his own breathing loud in his ears. He moved up the stairs in silence, noting distantly the red-cloaked Imperial guards standing ready in the shadows, the air of menace that seemed to permeate the very stone.  
  
Palpatine was seated on his throne, the heavy black fabric of his robe sweeping out at his feet, white hands resting against the arms of the throne, yellow eyes peering out from the cowl of his robe, watching the dark lord advance.  
  
Vader bowed before the Emperor, gazing submissively at the rough stone floor, feeling clearly his master's irritation.  
  
"What is it you want, Lord Vader?" The voice held the slight menace of impatience, the faint threat of his anger. Keeping his head bowed, Vader made a conscious effort to push down his apprehension. His request would perhaps anger his master further, but the dark lord felt compelled to make it.  
  
"It has been many days," he began, thanking the fact that the vocorder was able to mask the slight tremor in his voice. "I wish to know the whereabouts and condition of my son."  
  
There was a silence. Darth Vader was not quite sure what kind of reaction he was to expect from his master—-maybe an outburst of anger or an impatient command for him leave. Since when did Vader have any say concerning his own son? He realized that now, saw in painful hindsight the mistake he had made in hunting the boy down and bringing him back to his master.  
  
"I left strict instructions that I was not to be disturbed," the Emperor said quietly, stony eyes boring into the black, featureless helmet. "Why have you deliberately disobeyed me?"  
  
Vader dropped his gaze to the floor. "To locate Luke," he said quietly, surprised at his own boldness. "If I may."  
  
The response was one he didn't expect. Palpatine laughed. It was a grating, chilling sound, shaking Vader to the core. The Emperor rose to his feet, cane striking hard against the floor.  
  
"Your own compassion is your undoing, my friend." The dark lord continued to stare at the floor. "Did you honestly believe that in hunting the boy and capturing him that you would be able to restore some long-dead father- son bond that you fantasize exists between you?"  
  
Vader shut his eyes. Yes. For some horribly deluded reason he had believed that.  
  
"Skywalker is now mine," Palpatine smiled, pacing casually before his throne, gnarled cane brushing the floor with rhythmic precision, white hand gesturing for Vader to rise. "Dismiss him from your thoughts. Your son is no longer of any concern to you, Lord Vader."  
  
Vader pushed to his feet, towering well over the wizened old man, refusing, at least for a moment, to be dismissed. "I wish to know that he is unharmed."  
  
Palpatine would have arched eyebrows if he had them. His dangerous anger spoke through his piercing yellow eyes, warning Vader to take heed. "Then know that he is unharmed," he replied, turning from his henchman and resettling himself on his throne.  
  
"Is there something further that you require, Lord Vader?" Palpatine asked in what was clearly a dismissal.  
  
Common sense warned the dark lord not to interfere further with the Emperor. But Vader ignored the warning. Now he avoided the hard yellow gaze of his master, knowing that Palpatine could see straight to his soul. "I wish to see my son," he repeated.  
  
Palpatine laughed again, a horrible, mocking sound. "Do you, now?" he asked. "My, you are playing the part of the doting father now. There was a while when I was convinced your black heart was devoid of human feeling." He chuckled again. Vader bristled, but kept his temper—-and the fear in his heart—-in check. His hopes to be able to at least see Luke were waning.  
  
Two of the nearest red-cloaked Imperial guards disappeared into the shadows as Palpatine sat there, regarding Vader thoughtfully. "Compassion is a foolish weakness, my friend. It will one day be the means of bringing about your downfall." His eyes hardened. Vader knew his master was threatening him. Palpatine continued leisurely. "But please don't say I never warned you," he murmured. He tilted his head towards the two guards. "Your son, Lord Vader."  
  
They dragged a dark form between them and dropped him unceremoniously at Vader's feet. The figure, tangled in a long dark robe, managed to land on his hands and knees, biting back a cry of pain as he fell. Vader watched, outwardly emotionless. Luke slid to the floor in a sigh of black robe and curled into a fetal position, trembling, his rapid breathing audible from where the dark lord stood. In the shadows the firelight flickered across the boy's features, showing a deep cut across his eye and his light hair matted with dried blood.  
  
Vader looked from his master to his son again. Palpatine was watching him, waiting for what he'd do, ready to pounce upon his protégé's weakness. The hood of the robe had fallen away from Luke's face, revealing the mass of bruises and cuts. The boy's eyes, tightly shut, cracked open against the firelight, bloodshot and in pain, to see the towering figure standing over him. A shiver went through his body and he seemed to curl tighter against the floor as if it would offer some protection. Bruised lips moved to form words Vader couldn't hear. He only saw his son mouth the word *father.*  
  
Not looking at his master, Darth Vader took a step forward and crouched over Luke. The Jedi stiffened, his eyes shut. Bloodied, bruised hands flew weakly as if to push the dark lord away.  
  
"May I have permission to take him to his quarters?" Vader asked, shutting his eyes and his mind to his son's pain and turning to face the Emperor.  
  
Palpatine laughed again. "Your image as a father figure is endearing, my friend," he chuckled sardonically. "Though it may be too late for you to win the boy now."  
  
Vader got his arm underneath Luke's shoulders and pushed to his feet, lifting his son with little effort, facing the Emperor and the consequences, quashing the fear in his heart, and ignoring the hard yellow eyes boring into him in silence. Perhaps he would be punished for this, perhaps not. It no longer mattered what happened.  
  
"I will take him to his quarters," he said simply. The Emperor didn't answer, the red-cloaked guards didn't move as Vader turned to leave the way he had come.  
  
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Vader entered the pristine, immaculate quarters, Luke's unconscious form a deadweight in his arms. But he did not notice the physical burden—-only the weight of his own guilt pressing against his mind.  
  
He laid the lifeless Jedi on the large black bed, watching his son for several long moments, trying to decide what to do, unconsciously watching to make sure the young man was still breathing.  
  
Vader paced to the window and then back again, unsure of what to do. It was too quiet, too peaceful to be right, considering the horrors that had taken place. The silence was all wrong.  
  
A second furtive glance at his son showed Luke's eyes were open. They were staring, half-conscious, unfocused in Vader's general direction.  
  
The dark lord approached closer to the bedside, laying a careful hand on the young man's shoulder. "Are you thirsty, my son?"  
  
Luke managed a nod.  
  
Vader moved with a quiet swish of silken black cape to the small table by the massive windows and poured a glass of water. But even with help, Luke was not very successful in drinking it.  
  
Vader put the glass back and hesitantly resorted to pacing again, his mind spinning with what to do. Luke's eyes, pained and troubled, slowly tracked his father's movements.  
  
Vader stopped pacing, his mechanical breathing sounding deafening in his own ears. He had never felt such a loss of words before in his life. "Do you need anything, Luke?" he asked.  
  
The young man didn't respond, his eyes glazed with a blank torpor, looking as though he was hardly conscious of his surroundings. Vader felt guilt again. He'd allowed for his son to fall at the mercies of Palpatine. The Jedi looked drugged and beaten, haggard and exhausted, stripped of all that he valued, friendless and hopeless.  
  
"I am a man of few words, my son," the dark lord began again, clenching a black-clad fist at his side. "My ability to express my emotions fails me, presently." Luke's cloudy gaze still watched him. Perhaps he could hear what his father was saying, perhaps not. Vader paced at the foot of the bed again.  
  
"What I wish to say to you, son, before it is perhaps too late to express regrets..." Luke's eyes drifted closed. Vader clenched gloved fists again. "I wanted to acknowledge that I made a mistake....in bringing you into this..." he swallowed, guilt tugging at his mind again, smarting with new self- accusations. "...In turning you over to the Emperor. My actions were foolish."  
  
He turned to half-regard the large room, the cold, immaculate furnishings, the wan sun filtering through the window, casting the room in an eerie glow. All of it was cold and impersonal. Much as he felt he had been. Why was it he was only beginning to see, now that it was virtually too late to act. What had he done? Perhaps it would take years for him to finally realize... He turned back to Luke. The young man's eyes were shut. He had clearly lost again to a drugged sleep and would not hear.  
  
The dark lord cleared his throat, taking a small step toward the side of the Luke's bed. "Though the time may be too late to admit this," he murmured, his regret a lead weight in his stomach, "I want you to know that I am sorry." He reached out a black-clad arm, hearing the sound of his mechanical breather, and knowing that he must look the monster. Vader touched the Jedi's feverish temple, projecting what comfort and assurance he could into his apology.  
  
"My son....I'm sorry." Only coldness and emptiness responded. Luke's mind was silent, the room ghostly quiet.  
  
Slowly, Vader straightened, turned, and left the room the way he had come.  
  
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Comments make my world go round :) 


	39. chapter 39

It was a cold, gray Coruscant morning when Mara was finally allowed to see him. Vader had informed her, in a matter-of-fact message, cold black words staring back at her from her computer screen, that Luke had been returned to his quarters in the palace and that he was still alive.  
  
It had been six days.  
  
Now, having walked noiselessly through the brooding corridors, past the bored guards, she entered the large bedroom suite, cringing at the stark silence, apprehensive at what she might find.  
  
Luke Skywalker's slight, battered form rested lifelessly atop the pristine covers of the massive black bed. He was shrouded from shoulders to ankles in the rich, thick folds of an ebony robe that covered a torn, blood- stained tunic. Dried blood matted his hair and caked the side of his face.  
  
Slowly, feeling sick inside, Mara crossed the richly furnished room to Luke's bedside, hesitantly touching his hand. He did not react. "What did he do to you?" she whispered to his lifeless form.  
  
Six days. Six days that she had not seen or heard from the Emperor. Six days that she did not know if Luke were dead or alive. Six days she watched Vader pace a trail into the floor, endured his snapping orders and outbursts of temper. The Dark Lord had not known what had become of his son either.  
  
Now she gazed down at Luke, at the deep purple bruises marring his battered features. He looked as lifeless as a rag doll. The only sign that he was still alive was his shallow, ragged breathing.  
  
"I'm so sorry about this," she whispered, sitting next to him on the edge of his bed. If only they could have gotten out of there as they had planned, then he might have been able to escape. But she knew Luke would never leave his friends to a trap just to save himself. "I wish I could have done something to make it turn out differently."  
  
His eyes opened briefly, blinking against the light. Mara watched him, touching his hand again. "Luke?"  
  
He was suddenly gasping for breath, hand flailing away from hers, his body going rigid with remembered pain. His eyes opened wide, staring up at her. His voice was a faint whisper from cracked, bloodless lips. "Mara?"  
  
Mara glanced down quickly, pushing away the tight knot of pain that wrenched her stomach. She nodded. "It's me, Luke. I'm here." She hesitated. "I...it's over now. Everything's okay now."  
  
Luke shut his eyes, still breathing hard. With another fixed grimace, he coughed weakly, opening his eyes to regard her. "You're okay?" He whispered. "Did they hurt you?"  
  
She shook her head, feeling guilt tug at her mind again. "No. They...he left me alone. I'm fine."  
  
Relief replaced some of the dark fear in Luke's eyes as he nodded. "What about Han and Leia?" he asked.  
  
Mara shook her head. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "No one has been permitted to see them."  
  
White-knuckled hands groped for something to use as leverage as Luke struggled to sit up. "I have to find them," he gasped to Mara, strangling back a cough.  
  
She restrained him as she would a child. "Lie down, Luke. You're going to hurt yourself. There's nothing you can do for them right now."  
  
But the Jedi refused to comply. Another horrendous cough racked his frame, sending him clutching weakly for his side. "I have to go to them, to make sure they're okay," he whispered when he could speak again.  
  
"You can do that later," Mara lied. She doubted he would be allowed to. "When you can actually stand."  
  
"Then help me stand!" Luke snapped in a brief flash of frustration. "I need find them, and help them if I can."  
  
"Luke..." she began. "Just how do you plan to help them...?" But the Jedi was already struggling to sit up—with or without her aid.  
  
Mara grimaced and got her arms behind his shoulders, cringing at Luke's soundless gasp of pain as she did so.  
  
Finally sitting, Luke shakily slid his feet over the side of the bed, still gripping her arm for support.  
  
"Skywalker, I don't think this is such a good idea—I can't carry you."  
  
His face, dotted with perspiration, was waxen gray. "You're not going to faint on me, are you?" she asked him warily. "Luke—"  
  
"Just give me a minute—I'll be fine," he gasped unconvincingly, sinking his head into trembling hands, sweat glistening on his forehead and face. "Just a minute," he repeated.  
  
Mara watched him in concern, noting in revulsion the hideous purple bruises and lacerations that marked the backs of his hands. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. "How do you expect to be able to help them when you can't even stand?"  
  
"I can," he insisted, not raising his head. "The Force—"  
  
"Lie back down, Luke," she told him. "Live to fight another day. You're not helping anyone like this. Maybe in a day or two..." The ebony robe had slipped down from his shoulders revealing a torn and tattered black tunic stiff with dried blood. There was a small white bandage taped to the base of his skull, just above his collar.  
  
Mara recognized it and went cold.  
  
Luke shook his head, but still did not attempt to move. "I don't have a day or two. I don't even have—"  
  
"What is this?" Mara whispered, reaching gingerly to touch the bandage. "What's this for?" Horror churned in her gut; she felt suddenly sick.  
  
Luke still didn't raise his head. His breathing was labored and his shoulders were shaking. "You don't want to know."  
  
But she already knew. She'd seen these things before, but only rarely. They were usually reserved for dangerous criminals and lunatics in insane asylums. It was standard procedure in places like that to implant a small chip that was wired to the prisoner's  
nervous system, capable of dishing out a moderate to severe electric shock if the person ever became dangerous or unmanageable.  
  
Mara opened her mouth to speak and then shut it again. "Why?" she asked finally. "Why did he do this?"  
  
Luke shook his head. "He thinks I might try to escape again," he whispered. He looked up at her, his face turning a new shade of white. Grimacing, he sagged back against the bed again. "He doesn't want to take the chance."  
  
Mara swallowed but didn't say anything. Palpatine would rather kill the Jedi than see him or his friends make another attempt at getting him away.  
  
Luke dropped his head against the pillows again, his face a chalky gray. "I...." he faltered. "How long...has it been?"  
  
Mara pursed her lips, eyeing him. The days had stretched like weeks, like they'd never end. "Six days," she said quietly. "Since Derra IV."  
  
Luke mouthed her words, shutting his eyes again.  
  
"Can I get you something?" Mara asked quietly. "Some food—a drink of water?"  
  
He nodded, swallowing. "Water."  
  
Mara returned with the glass of water a few minutes later and helped him sit up to drink it. Luke drank a little and thanked her.  
  
Mara set the cup on the nightstand, and sat back. Sweat-stringy hair plastered to his forehead, dried blood on his face, features waxen and pale, Luke looked terrible. But beyond his physical injuries, there was something in his eyes that looked shattered and dead.  
  
"Is there anything else I can get for you?" she asked, for lack of anything better to say. There was precious little for them to talk about that wouldn't remind them of the dire situation things were in. And she didn't dare ask him about his treatment under Palpatine. "An order of Devonian sweetcakes or a Correllian ale?" She tried to keep her voice light, distract him from the pain she could see in his eyes.  
  
He shut his eyes wearily. "Got a medic?"  
  
Mara pressed her lips together and watched him. "I could probably find one," she murmured. "But if he helped you, Palpatine would probably have him killed."  
  
The feverish color drained from Luke's face. His lips were gray. Mara could see a rapid pulse throbbing at his temple. "Never mind, then," he whispered weakly. "Maybe you should go too—I don't want you to be hurt."  
  
Reluctantly, Mara nodded. Perhaps that would be for the best, considering she wasn't on the best of terms with her master.  
  
"Find out where Han and Leia are, see if they're okay," Luke whispered. "And then, if it's not too much trouble, maybe you can somehow smuggle in a bottle of Leximophen to me."  
  
Mara frowned at the expression in his eyes, his tired, despairing sense in the Force. He was serious. "Now what has you talking like that?" she asked. Leximophen was a notoriously deadly poison.  
  
The Jedi only shook his head, offering a wan smile, despite the waxen sheen of his feautres, the glassy tears that were suddenly pooling at his eyes. "Better now than later," he whispered. "Before I can do anymore harm to anybody."  
  
Mara reached for his hand again. It was cold and lifeless. "Luke, surely things can't be that bad. You're hurt and not thinking clearly. In a couple of days..."  
  
Luke released a shaky sigh, knotting a handful of black robe in his fist as he shook his head, pushing away her words. "No," he whispered. "For the first time, maybe I am thinking clearly. Now I can see..."  
  
Mara swallowed. The lump in her throat would not go away. "Luke, what happened?" she whispered, touching his hand again. He didn't respond. "Tell me what he did to you. Talk to me."  
  
He looked away, eyes gazing toward the window, seeing as perhaps he had every day for many months, the freedom and peace just out of his grasp, knowing that it could not and would not be his. The gray Coruscant sky was swirling with cotton snowflakes, hundreds, thousands of them fluttering peacefully through the sky. It was beautiful, really. If one had the time to think about those things.  
  
"You were right," he whispered. "When you told me...." He swallowed. "My dreams were right." His eyes were wide, staring at nothing. "I had convinced myself that those nightmares were only the product of a frightened imagination." He regarded Mara again. "They were right."  
  
Mara pursed her lips, wondering if he wasn't delirious. "Luke, I don't understand what you're saying—"  
  
He killed them," Luke cut her off in a whisper, his eyebrows arched, expression still stunned, disbelieving. "In cold blood—he killed them."  
  
"Who?" Mara asked, feeling an icy chill crawl up her spine and deep-set sympathy for the pain she saw in his eyes. "What happened?"  
  
"Connah, Aram and Benjamin," he choked, shaking his head as if to fling out the images burned in his mind. "Stormtroopers destroyed their home and had them executed." One thin tear trickled down his cheek as he spoke, his voice cracking. He wouldn't look at her. "Palpatine did not let me forget it, took great pleasure in reminding me. They were killed—their lives ended—simply as punishment to me."  
  
Luke leaned his head back against the pillows, despondent, his fists bunching more black robe. He looked up at her, exhaustion and despair written all over his waxen features. "I knew I should have left weeks earlier and yet I stayed. I put them in danger...I..." he trailed off, tears trickling down his cheeks. "It could have been avoided."  
  
Mara looked at her hands, a half-dozen empty sympathetic comments sticking like thick cotton to the roof of her mouth. "Luke..." she began, biting her lip.  
  
What?" he whispered, eyes pleading with helpless anger and sadness, more vulnerable than she had ever seen him, or ever cared to see him again. "Are you going to tell me it's not my fault, that I'm not to blame? Are you going to lie to me too?"  
  
Mara snapped her mouth shut.  
  
Luke only hunched his shoulders forward and coughed, grimacing, eyes shut. "Can't you see....there is only one end to this nightmare—to this mess that I've made..."  
  
Mara was shaking her head. "No, Luke—you're not well, not thinking clearly..." But he was shaking his head, not listening.  
  
Mara took his hands again, bloodied and bruised that they were, and looked into his eyes. "We all make mistakes," she murmured. "But you can't give up. You've made it this far—you have to keep fighting."  
  
"I'm tired of fighting, Mara," he whispered, choking again. "Tired of hurting, and seeing those I love get hurt."  
  
She didn't let go of his hands for fear he might do something stupid. "Sometimes," she said quietly, trying to hold onto his waning attention. "it is okay to cry. People do that sometimes."  
  
He shook his head, but didn't answer, pressing his lips together, eyes fluttering shut in empty despair. Mara leaned closer, touching his shoulder. "Let it out, Luke," she whispered. "Just let it out."  
  
Then, as if he needed permission, cry he did, releasing his pent up grief in a flood of sudden emotion, weeping over those he'd lost. Hot tears soaked the shoulder of Mara's jumpsuit, anguished sobs shaking his battered body.  
  
The Emperor's Hand just sat there and took it silently.  
  
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Pass the Kleenex. And drop a review on your way out—vielen Dank! 


	40. Chapter 40

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Han Solo glanced up when the door to his and Leia's prison cell clanged open. Exhausted and worn, though he was, his adrenaline surged as he rose to his feet, positioning himself between the newcomer and his wife who was dozing on the thin cot in the corner.  
  
A hooded figure entered, almost reluctantly, into the dimly lit cell, limping slightly. The person was slightly built and not as tall as Han, dressed in the black folds of an ebony cloak that shrouded his face in shadow and swept out at his feet. Solo decided he could take the guy easily, despite the fact that he had not eaten anything in two days.  
  
Just as Han was prepared to take a swipe at the person if he came any closer, the man drew back his hood.  
  
There, in front of him stood Luke Skywalker.  
  
Solo froze. His friend looked haggard and exhausted. Judging from the younger man's battered features, Han guessed that maybe Palpatine's cronies had decided to teach him a lesson or two. *Doesn't pay too well to work for the bad guys, does it?* He thought bitterly.  
  
"Luke," he greeted the Jedi through stiff lips.  
  
Skywalker nodded, his eyes dark with an expression the smuggler could not recognize. "Han," he said quietly.  
  
"Nice of you to pay us a visit," Solo commented, hoping his voice sounded as angry as he felt.  
  
Before Luke could reply, Solo's fist cocked back and was propelled straight into the young Jedi's jaw.  
  
Luke probably saw it coming, but he barely flinched. He was thrown to the floor without a sound. Han approached him, ready to deliver another angry blow, but stopped when he realized that Luke did not attempt to get up and defend himself. Neither did he try to speak.  
  
Solo wanted to shake him. Did his friend know how they had grieved his death for the past six months? Did he even care? After all they had done for him, after all the times Han himself had saved the kid's miserable hide, Luke had turned around and betrayed them to the Empire.  
  
Han, sufficiently blinded by anger, seized Luke by the front of his black robe and hauled him to his feet. "What in the worlds is wrong with you?" he all but shouted. His friend was limp in his incensed grip. He drew his fist back again, almost wishing Luke would fight back so he could have an excuse to batter some sense into the Jedi. "What were you thinking?" he cried, enraged.  
  
"Han!" Leia's voice cried. She was awake now, getting to her feet, maybe to stop him from beating her brother into a pulp.  
  
"How could you do what you did to your sister?" Solo demanded. "Throw her in here without any food or blankets—she's pregnant, for Hoth's sake!"  
  
"Han!" Leia's voice repeated behind him. Solo was too angry to answer. All his fury that had built up inside him while he'd been sitting in this tiny prison cell finally had an escape. "Stop!" Solo pummeled Skywalker with another blow.  
  
Luke, doubling over in a choked fit of coughing, tried to push Solo away in a feeble defense, stumbling backward. Han suddenly froze, seeing Luke's hands. They were bloodied and bruised purple and black. There was a 6-inch cauterized burn from his wrist, across the inside of his arm. His friend was shaking, falling back against the wall for support.  
  
"Stars, what have they done to you?" he gasped, releasing the fistful of black robe.  
  
"Nothing," Luke snatched his hands back, shutting his eyes and sinking to his knees in a tangle of heavy black cloth, his breathing heavy and labored. Bright red blood glistened on his lips and a new bruise was forming where Han had struck him. His nose was bleeding. Solo grabbed Luke's arm and pushed up his sleeve to the elbow. At his shoulder, he heard Leia gasp.  
  
"You call this nothing?" he demanded, though his voice bore less of the harshness than it had before. He was beginning to feel sick inside. Luke's arms bore the same hideous bruises and marks as his hands. "Do you think I don't know what it looks like when someone has been tortured? What did they do to you?" He repeated. "What's going on?"  
  
Luke only shook his head, leaning his head back against the stone wall, fighting to draw a breath and clear the dizziness and nausea. "I'm sorry," he whispered, coughing again, wiping the blood from his mouth. It smeared across his cheek. "I don't blame you if you hate me. I tried to keep you out of this and I failed." He swallowed, grimacing as he moved. "I just...wanted to come here and...make sure you were all right."  
  
Han shook his head, kneeling in front of the Jedi, hands still gripping his friend's upper arms, feeling a sudden surge of guilt that he had just caused new injuries. "Tell me what's going on here, kid." The anger had drained from his voice, and with it, a memory floated to the front of his mind. *To think he was alive all this time*, he had said quietly to Leia, before they had left for Derra IV. *All this time and we didn't try to help him because we didn't know.*  
  
Luke hunched his shoulders, shivering involuntarily as he drew his dark cloak tighter about him. "It's a very long story." His voice and cloudy blue eyes were pained. He glanced wearily up at his friend. "One I don't think I can tell right now. I don't know if you can forgive me....but just know that I am sorry." He dropped his gaze. His voice sounded broken and empty, near breaking down. "I am so sorry."  
  
He moved to get to his feet, flinching again in pain. Bewildered, Han caught the Jedi's arm to help him up, but dropped it like a stone seeing Luke's sharp wince. "Luke..."  
  
He straightened, his gaze going from Han to Leia. "I have to go. I—I may not see you again."  
  
Leia was shaking her head, moving towards her brother, her expression one of alarm. "Luke, what are you talking about—where are you going?"  
  
The Jedi bit his lip, brushing at the blood on his face with the back of his hand. "Vader is coming now to take me to the Emperor again. I'm not supposed to be here." He swallowed, catching his hand against the wall for support. "I'm so sorry we didn't meet again under happier circumstances...but..." he eyed the door again, swaying slightly, and repeated, "I have to go." He moved to leave, but his sister caught his hand.  
  
"Luke, please don't," she murmured. "Stay with us...Maybe somehow—together—we can..."  
  
"Leia—I can't—I shouldn't have come here." Luke suddenly stiffened and glanced past her again towards the door. "I must leave."  
  
Han frowned after him. "Kid, what's going on—"  
  
The door to the small cell suddenly hissed open, stopping them all in their tracks. Darth Vader stood in the doorway, a towering, hissing black giant, eclipsing the light.  
  
Han's first reaction was panic, memories of Bespin flooding over him. But Vader wasn't looking at him. He was looking at Luke.  
  
"You are strictly forbidden here," the dark lord rumbled, ignoring the other two occupants of the room. "The Emperor demands to see you at once."  
  
Luke's eyes flashed—dread, revulsion, despair, all rolled into one. Then without uttering a word, casting his eyes briefly toward Han and Leia, he moved obediently to leave.  
  
Not another word was spoken. Solo watched worriedly as the door slid shut behind his friend and Vader.  
  
Leia, still eyeing the door, sank down again to the narrow cot. "I'm so afraid for him," she whispered, rubbing her arms, feeling a sudden chill in the air. "What's going on?"  
  
Solo sat down next to his wife and took her hand, holding it tight. "I don't know," he answered, still watching the door apprehensively, dread curdling in his stomach. "I don't know."  
  
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I know it's all a little heavy on the melodrama, but you all don't mind, do you? That's what I thought. ( 


	41. Chapter 41

Well, folks, we're getting closer to the long-awaited end of this story. I hope you enjoy.....  
  
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By the time they had hauled him to the throne room, Mara was already there, she herself guarded by two stormtroopers. Luke was dragged, stumbling, to the Emperor's throne and tossed unceremoniously to the floor where he tried to regain his feet despite hands locked behind him. He couldn't. Instead, he fell forward again, gasping, head reeling.  
  
The Emperor's bad mood was reflected upon the fact that he stood unspeaking and unsmiling over the kneeling Jedi, his cane striking the floor in front of Luke's eyes with angry precision. "You are trying my patience, boy," he snapped. "Do you care to explain your insolent and disobedient behavior?"  
  
Squeezing his eyes shut, Luke only shook his head, still kneeling before the despot. There was no real purpose in answering.  
  
The Emperor stopped in front of the Jedi and dropped Luke's lightsaber at his feet. The weapon struck the stone floor with a loud clang. "It has been a while since you've had the occasion to duel with your father, hasn't it?" he asked offhandedly.  
  
Luke eyed his saber like poison, resisting the temptation to call the weapon to him, to give in the fear and the anger that was pounding in his heart. No, he could not afford to do that. It was what Palpatine wanted. He couldn't do it.  
  
"Lord Vader?" the Emperor summoned, stepping away from Luke.  
  
The dark lord hesitated slightly. His saber, held loosely at arm's-length, pointed toward the ground, came on with a snap-hiss.  
  
The manacles fell from Luke's hands as the Emperor stepped back to retake his seat on his throne. "Now, keep this fairly entertaining or others will feel the consequences of your failure." He nodded toward Mara. "My Hand has demonstrated the ability to be expendable, if necessary. And she might have her uses, since I am aware how much you care for her." Palpatine smiled down at the Jedi. "I will have no qualms about it. Is that understood?"  
  
Luke understood perfectly. He must fight to save her life, and the lives of Han and Leia. *Don't give into your anger. Don't give in.* He didn't know how long he would be required to duel, or how long it would be until his strength gave out, but he tried not to think of those things. Mechanically, his head pounding, vision blurring, he pushed to his feet, hand groping for his saber. The weapon rested like lead in his fingers, heavy and taunting. He only needed to give in for a few seconds, finish the Emperor off, and they'd all be free. But he knew it couldn't happen that way. He knew he didn't possibly have the strength to make it happen that way. Vader stood motionless, his stance hesitant and wary.  
  
Dark fear weighing down his steps, Luke shuffled forward to his father, eyes flickering to Mara, and back again. Darth Vader stood dutifully waiting, nothing in his stance or sense indicating any weakness or compassion for his son.  
  
Praying for strength, Luke stepped forward numbly and swung the first blow.  
  
********  
  
The stormtroopers pushed Han and Leia hurriedly ahead of them, down a long carpeted corridor.  
  
"What's going on?" Solo demanded angrily, a gnawing, unnerving fear aching in the pit of his stomach. "Where are you taking us?"  
  
They acted as though they hadn't heard, pushing him, hands manacled behind his back, roughly forward. "Move it," one growled as they passed through a darkened doorway.  
  
"What's....going on?" The words died on his lips as Han stepped in to the massive throne room shrouded in darkness and saw the battle come into view. The image was one that would burn into his mind.  
  
At the edge of the white stone steps, lightsabers in a blur of motion, Luke and Vader were dueling. In a terrific crash of noise and light, the two exchanged blow after blow. As Solo watched in rapt fascination, he was reminded of the only other time he had witnessed a lightsaber duel: on the first Death Star. Only then it had been between Vader and Obi-wan Kenobi. Now it involved his friend. The battle seemed to be progressing with a strange kind of energy and fury. But on closer inspection, Han saw from Luke's stance and manner that something was wrong. *Of course something's wrong,* he thought to himself. *The kid's hurt—in absolutely no shape to be battling Vader.*  
  
"Let's go." The stormtrooper behind Han shoved him roughly. Solo glowered and moved forward, not taking his eyes off the fighting.  
  
"Finally, our guests have arrived," a voice spoke, drawing the smuggler's attention to the center of the room. Han suddenly went cold. Palpatine stood in front of his throne, alternately eyeing Luke's duel and Han and Leia with a sickly sort of glee. His worn black robe covered him like a shroud, making him appear as though he were a walking corpse. Solo shivered, instinctively stepping toward his wife so that he stood between her and Palpatine.  
  
"Does it not please you that your friends have arrived, Jedi?" The Emperor questioned Luke conversationally. Skywalker was concentrating too hard on the duel to answer. His expression was fixed in a determined grimace. Perspiration rolling down his face combined with a sickly pallor to make his features look waxen. Vader seemed to be putting as little effort into the duel as possible. Yet still, Luke pressed on, exchanging blow after blow with the dark lord.  
  
Finally, throwing a pained glance in his and Leia's direction, Luke staggered to a halt and deactivated his lightsaber. Han could hear the Jedi's ragged breathing from where he stood and felt vaguely sick. Luke limped forward, eyeing the Emperor with dread in his eyes, his face betraying pain. Solo's memory of his own anger at Luke, of punching his friend out in the prison cell, smarted. The smuggler was beginning to see a clearer picture of what was going on. Luke was not the traitor Madine accused him of being, but a prisoner and a pawn to his abilities and to frightening circumstances.  
  
Han clenched his fist at his side, remembering the angry burns and bruises on the Jedi's face and arms. They'd thought Luke had betrayed them. They had accused him and given up on him. All the while the younger man had tried only to keep them out of harm's way.  
  
At his side, Leia stood in rigid silence, tense as if ready to spring. Her lips mouthed her brother's name, but no sound came out. Her wide brown eyes held the same deep-rooted horror that Han recognized from her nightmares. Solo wondered if she could sense her brother's emotions through the Force.  
  
Luke back-stepped warily, keeping clear of Vader's lightsaber. Vader, for his part, paced, making no move to continue the fight.  
  
"Did I tell you to stop fighting yet?" The voice of the Emperor was dangerously soft. Solo eyed the black-cowled terror with loathing and the faint stirrings of fear at the unspoken menace in that voice. Han suddenly wished very much to have his blaster comfortably in his hand. Even though he knew it would not do him any good, it would make him feel just a little bit better. Luke only shook his head, casting a weary glance at his friends.  
  
"Do you mean to disobey me, Skywalker?"  
  
Faded blue eyes staring blankly, Luke reactivated his lightsaber and stepped half-heartedly towards Vader. The dark lord watched his son's desperation soullessly, easily blocking the weakening blows. Luke's actions were slower and more deliberate than before. He staggered forward with more of a pronounced limp, expression tight with suppressed pain.  
  
Luke made a feint towards Vader's head with his humming green blade. Vader ducked away and retaliated by sweeping his blade at Luke's feet. The Jedi barely managed to deflect the blow and stagger out of the way, but it was the final straw. Stumbling to his knees and gasping for air, Luke looked very white. His arms, as he tried to push up from the floor, shook with exertion.  
  
"Luke!" Leia cried into the room's sudden silence, expression contorted in dread. Silently, Han willed her to be quiet and keep from calling attention to herself.  
  
"I can't," Luke whispered, still fighting dizzily to regain his feet. "I can't..." Vader, standing over him, deactivated his lightsaber, not pressing his advantage.  
  
Han watched helplessly, his stomach churning in a curious sort of dread, as Palpatine stepped toward the gasping young man. "You disobey me," he said quietly.  
  
The Jedi looked up at the Emperor, one hand still clutching at his right side, while the other held his lightsaber in a white-knuckled fist pressing against the floor. "I can't," he whispered again, shaking his head.  
  
"Fool," Palpatine snapped. "If you would use the dark side as I instructed, you would not have such frail weaknesses. But apparently you still insist on learning things the hard way."  
  
With a sudden speed that bellied his appearance, Palpatine lashed out. Blue-white lightning leapt from his fingertips with a horrendous *crack,* shooting across the room. Han watched, in shocked horror; too stunned to react, as Leia cried out and crumpled under the sudden barrage, blue lightning crawling like a spider's web over her body.  
  
"Leia!" Han cried, rushing to her, not caring if they decided to shoot him for doing so.  
  
Her eyes were squeezed shut in pain and she moaned something he couldn't understand. Fear squeezing his heart, Solo probed her injuries, cringing at the angry red burns that traversed her arms and neck. He winced at the stink of ozone. "Leia, come on," he murmured, patting her cheeks as well as he could with shackled hands. "Come on, sweetheart." With another moan, she opened her eyes.  
  
"Do you want your friends to suffer like this?" The Emperor asked into the waiting silence. Solo bit his lip and awkwardly helped his wife to a sitting position.  
  
"You okay?" he asked her in concern. "Huh?"  
  
She only nodded, eyes unfocused in pain. Solo clenched his fist, swallowing back his temper, knowing an outburst of rage on his part would do little to help them right now.  
  
"Leave them out of this!" Luke snapped angrily. With a painful effort, he pushed drunkenly to his feet, catching his hand against the floor for balance. His lightsaber was held poised in his hand, not yet ignited. "They have done nothing to you." He choked back a cough, taking a step towards Palpatine. "Just leave them alone."  
  
Solo eyed his friend nervously, muscles tied in tight little knots as he tended to Leia. What was Luke doing? Instead of resuming his duel with Vader, the young man was taking another step toward the Emperor.  
  
Luke was breathing hard. His eyes were wide and swimming with anger and pain. His lightsaber was being held in an iron grip at his side. "Your fight has only ever been with me," he said softly, advancing another step. "Leave them alone."  
  
Palpatine continued to stare at the Jedi, cold and unmoving.  
  
Han bit down hard on his bottom lip as he helped Leia sit up, his eyes never straying from his friend. *Don't go crazy on me now, kid...*  
  
"What is he doing?" Leia whispered, gripping Solo's arms shakily. The smuggler could only shake his head, feeling a horrible sensation of dread churning in his stomach.  
  
"The duel," Palpatine reminded the Jedi calmly, nodding fractionally toward Vader who was still standing where he had been two minutes ago. "Or do you wish for one of your friends to die?"  
  
Luke's forward momentum was halted by that reminder. Suddenly visibly self- reproachful, he staggered back a step, half-turning to where his father was standing. Then he glanced back at the Emperor again, eyes drunk with pain and anger.  
  
Apparently that brief moment of hesitation was all that was needed to ignite Palpatine's temper again. The wizened old man suddenly lashed out with another arcing flash of blue-white lightening. Han's muscles jerked in reaction, fully expecting to feel the shock of the blast course through him. A fraction of a second later, hearing a startled cry of pain, he realized that the attack was directed at the red-haired woman standing half in the shadows.  
  
As Mara Jade crumpled forward, falling to her knees, Luke, eyes terror- stricken, lunged forward with the last of his depleted strength to deflect the bolts. "No!" he cried furiously, catching the lightning with his weapon. "You will not hurt them!"  
  
Angrily, Palpatine shifted his attack towards Luke, sparking bolts of electricity. But the Jedi reflected most of the bolts with his lightsaber and charged forward in a sudden headlong rush of adrenaline. His features were strained, angry, his eyes ablaze with fury as he attacked.  
  
*******  
  
Through her haze of pain, Mara saw Luke launch himself toward Palpatine, his energy renewed with the strength of his anger and the desperate hatred in his eyes.  
  
Luke was finally giving in to the Dark Side. She wanted to shout to him to stop, not to do it, but her voice and body seemed paralyzed the Emperor's lightning attack. She could only watch helplessly as he gave in. She was in no shape to do anything about it.  
  
Blue-white lightning flashed. Mara cringed involuntarily, wincing in reaction. But Palpatine's attack was directed at his latest threat—Luke Skywalker had finally snapped. Luke deflected the burst more easily than he had any of his father's lightsaber blows, strengthened now by his blinding fury, and moved forward toward the Emperor.  
  
Mara rolled awkwardly to her side, pushing up on her elbows, wishing she had the strength to join the fray—to talk some sense into Skywalker, to help him...something.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement, realized a millisecond later that it was the glint of Vader's helmet in the shadows. In a sudden blur of ebony cape and glowing, crimson lightsaber, the dark lord was moving forward toward his son and the Emperor, the blade of his saber catching the trailing tendrils of another burst of lightning directed toward Luke.  
  
He was defending the Jedi and attacking his master.  
  
A flash of revelation rolled dread in Mara's stomach. She crawled to a sitting position, ignoring the pain, remembering Vader's offer to Luke on Cloud City. The Sith lord had promised his son that together they could destroy the Emperor and rule the galaxy. Now Luke had finally accepted that offer. The promise was about to come true. The Jedi was selling his soul for his only last-ditch solution to save his friends. *Luke...* she thought helplessly. *Don't do it...* But if he heard her, he gave no sign.  
  
Luke and Vader closed in on the Emperor together, blue and green lightsabers illuminated by a massive web of crackling blue lightning.  
  
And for the first time in her life, Mara saw very real fear shining in Palpatine's eyes.  
  
************** 


	42. chapter 42

Tried not to leave you hanging too long......Enjoy!  
  
***********************  
  
Vader attacked Palpatine, his son at his side, his eyes finally opened to his blindness, his actions, twenty years of callousness to right and wrong. Luke's unfailing goodness had won him over, his devotion to what he knew was right and for the people he cared for. Luke's anger and his attack were purely in defense of his friends.  
  
And it would be up to his father to see him succeed. For without Vader's help, after the sufferings he had endured of late, the boy was no match for Palpatine  
  
Amid the corona crackle of blue fire, the Emperor's face shone with hard anger. "My friend, you would be wise to back away," he advised coldly, fingers sparking white lightning toward Luke. "If you care at all what happens to your son." Luke caught most of the burst, wincing still at the snaking tendrils that shot past his defenses.  
  
"I care what happens to my son," Vader snarled, springing to the young man's defense with a wide, arcing swing of his saber.  
  
"Father—look out!" Luke snapped. Vader dropped, barely avoiding a flagstone arcing through the air toward his skull. He spun, cleaving the rock in two. The stone shattered against the floor like glass shards. Luke stumbled to his father's defense as Palpatine threw another burst of lightning toward the dark lord.  
  
"You leave me with little choice, Vader," Palpatine's graveled, angry voice spoke above the din of the battle with an air of finality and sudden premonition of danger.  
  
Instinctively, Vader dove toward his son, but was not prepared for what happened next.  
  
Before he could cry out a warning, he suddenly felt blinding, numbing pain explode through Luke's mind. His son suddenly went rigid with a startled, agonized gasp, his eyes widening in belated realization, his lightsaber dropping from his hand like a hot stone.  
  
"Luke!"  
  
The Jedi slid to his knees, eyes wide, color draining from his face.  
  
"What a sad waste," Palpatine said piteously into the sudden balking silence. "All this might have been avoided."  
  
Vader was at Luke's side as his son dropped, gasping in startled pain, to hands and knees, trembling arms threatening to buckle beneath him. The dark lord lifted the young man up, placing himself as a shield between the boy and the Emperor. "Palpatine—let him go!" he cried, enraged. Luke only doubled forward with a cry.  
  
Vader caught his son, fear and helplessness racing in his heart, lowered him to the floor. He didn't know what to do to ease his son's pain—didn't know what Palpatine was doing to the boy. He could only sit there in shock as Luke crumpled under the invisible barrage. The Jedi's eyes were tightly shut, shoulders shaking with every shuddering breath he took.  
  
"It's a shame you are such a slow learner," Palpatine remarked to Skywalker who was now past listening. Luke only writhed in pain, curling up against the stone floor with another gasping cry.  
  
********  
  
Terror and grief flooding her mind, Mara watched as Luke went down. It seemed as if it happened in slow, agonized motion, frame by frame. She felt his pain screaming out at her through the Force. His broken voice sobbed into the thick silence, incoherent words. *The implant!* she thought desperately. And she could do nothing but try and block him out of her mind to keep his pain from immobilizing her.  
  
"Luke!" Leia Organa's voice had cried in horror across the room. The other woman struggled to her feet in an effort to run to her brother, but Solo, horror and grief flooding his features, pulled her back. The princess dropped to the floor. "Luke—no!"  
  
Vader was kneeling over his son, frantic movements trying to calm the Jedi's pained cries, trying to relieve his son's agony somehow. Black gloved hands reached for the boy's temples in an effort to draw away some of the pain. But there wasn't anything the dark lord was able to do.  
  
"Palpatine, you're killing him!" Vader cried in rage, twisting to face his master. Luke was curled in a fetal position against the flagstones, shoulders shaking, arms clenched rigidly over his stomach, fingernails digging grooves into the rock, his voice pleading hoarsely for it all to stop. The Emperor, expression cold and hard, only responded with a burst of blue lightning. Vader leapt to his feet, deflecting the bolts away from him and Luke.  
  
In rage, he sprang forward to resume the attack. "You're killing my son!" he cried angrily. "I will not let you kill him!"  
  
The dark lord flew into a furious attack, his lightsaber a blur of crimson, his bulky form moving with agility in the offensive. But Palpatine was not without his defenses: too fast to see, uprooted flagstones hurled toward Vader from the shadows.  
  
"I'm afraid, by now, you have little choice, my friend," the Emperor said calmly. "I warned you not to let your emotions get in the way."  
  
A flagstone caught the dark lord glancingly on the shoulder, hurling him to the floor. Vader barely managed to deflect most of the next bolt of lightning hurled toward him. Mara knew, if he was to do this, he would need her help.  
  
Like a marionette whose strings had been snapped, Luke's body fell limp against the flagstones, his screams suddenly silenced, his sense in the Force going out like a snuffed candle. Mara gasped at the shock of the sudden emptiness in her mind. Crawling forward on hands and knees, she pressed to her feet, feeling ill. Vader needed her help if he was to defeat Palpatine. She knew she had to somehow summon the strength to fight.  
  
Blue lightning sparked from the Emperor's fingertips again, surrounding Vader's red blade in a blinding coronal fire that flashed purple light through the throne room. The dark lord deflected the lightning, swinging his blade viciously toward Palpatine.  
  
The Emperor ducked aside with nimbleness that refuted his frail appearance, waving a clawed hand in the direction of the wall. Emitting a shower of sparks, a large piece of machinery detached itself from the ceiling and flew towards Vader. The dark lord ducked beneath the equipment sailing towards him, slicing it in two with his lightsaber. He barely managed to bring his weapon back up to deflect another burst of lightning.  
  
The severed pieces of equipment crashed to the ground, skidding across the stone floor. With a fierce wave of his hand, Vader levitated both pieces toward the back of Palpatine's head, while still parrying rapidly against the lightning. In response, Palpatine raised his hand, stopping the equipment in midair, and then twisted it around again to pummel towards Vader.  
  
Mara continued to watch tensely from the shadows, her stomach tying itself in little knots as she alternately eyed the battle, Luke's friends crouched by the stairs and Luke's prone, lifeless form lying still in the center of the floor. The pieces of machinery, twisting rapidly in the air, finally came under the Emperor's control, shooting towards Vader and catching the dark lord on the shoulder. The impact was enough to knock Vader's arm to the side, making him miss deflecting most of the next lightning burst.  
  
Mara clenched her teeth. Shutting out the numbing possibility that Luke was dead, she scanned the throne room, seeing the lightsaber lying forgotten next to his prone form.  
  
As she called the cylindrical weapon to her hand, she marveled briefly. As much as Luke had seemed to bottle the guilt up inside him, as much as he might have viewed himself as a failure, he had managed to find the good in the people that were his enemies and turn them to his side.  
  
The green blade sprang to life in her hand. Mara rushed forward, hoping that she would have the benefit of surprise on her side. *This is in memory of Luke,* she thought silently.  
  
Palpatine's expression registered no surprise or anger when she jumped into the fray. Vader did not react as she deflected another piece of flying machinery away from him. It didn't matter what they thought now. All she needed to do was provide enough of a distraction for Vader to be able to go in for the kill.  
  
She caught a burst of lightning on her blade, jumping in spite of herself as a terrific *crack!* pierced the air. She looked up just in time to see a number of flagstones wrench up from the floor and shoot toward her and Vader. Gritting her teeth, Mara tried to split her attention between deflecting lightning bolts and fumbling for purchase on one of the huge stones. Next to her, Vader severed two of them in quick succession, dancing quickly out of the way of the lightning.  
  
*All I need is make one distraction,* Mara thought quickly to herself. *Just one.* The boulder was slipping from her grip. If she was going to do it, she had to do it now—while Palpatine was preoccupied with Vader. But levitation wasn't exactly one of her strong points. Even as she tried to maneuver the stone, while still deflecting a barrage of lightning, she was losing hold of it.  
  
With a surge of surprise, Mara suddenly felt an unfamiliar presence buoying her up, helping her with the stone. Leia Organa, she realized a moment later. *Of course.* It had just never occurred to her that Luke's sister was Force-strong.  
  
Together, Mara and the princess steered the hovering flagstone straight for Palpatine. The Emperor's rock-pummeling stopped. Angrily, he whipped toward the boulder, fingers sparking a spider's web of lightning, shattering the stone. But it was the distraction they needed. Vader found his opening, diving forward and jabbing viciously upward with his lightsaber. Palpatine didn't have time to react.  
  
An explosion of blue-white energy suddenly detonated with a thunderous crack, shattering the massive windows and virtually engulfing the room. Mara had the distance and presence of mind to fling up a barrier against the sudden onslaught as she was thrown to the floor. Distantly, she could see Solo in the corner, protecting wife. Vader staggered from where he'd cut down the Emperor, swallowed up in the awesome energy he had unleashed, cape whipping in the fury of the sudden storm. Mara clenched her eyes shut, praying for it to end.  
  
When finally the deafening roar and dark energy subsided, there was a brief moment of deathly silence. She opened her eyes, crawling again unsteadily to her feet, Luke's lightsaber still clenched in her hand.  
  
The throne room had been instantly transformed into a war zone. The cold wind skittered eerily through the shattered windows, flinging a flurry of icy snowflakes to scurry across the stone floor, to tangle in dark curtains. In the center of the stone floor, right where Palpatine had stood, was a massive, gaping black hole. A few feet away, Darth Vader lay, unmoving. And only a few feet from him was the lifeless form of Luke Skywalker, the one person who deserved to have witnessed the scene that had just transpired, to know what had just happened.  
  
It was over. The Emperor was dead.  
  
**************** 


	43. Chapter 43

Oh come now—after writing 235 pages of this story, would I just end there? Your lack of faith disturbs me :) Though we are obviously nearing the end, it's not over yet—so enjoy (and thanks tons for all your reviews!) T.  
  
******************** **************  
  
Mara turned back to the blackened hole in the floor, feeling numb. At her feet, Darth Vader lay prone. In the silence, accentuated only by the cries of the princess and the cold wind that blustered sporadically through the shattered windows, Mara could not hear the familiar sound of the dark lord's mechanical breather. Vader was motionless, the lights on his suit dark. Dead.  
  
Mara bit her lip and crouched over Vader's silent form. *This is the price,* she thought bitterly, surveying the wreckage of the throne room. *The price for betraying Palpatine.* Luke was dead, Vader was dead. And she... She had willingly destroyed the only life she had ever known.  
  
She wondered when the shock would hit her. She, Mara Jade, the Emperor's Hand, had aided in bringing about the demise of her own master. What kind of traitor did that make her?  
  
*Have you ever wondered what side you would be on if you were given a choice?*  
  
Luke had asked her that once when they'd walked through the botanical gardens. He'd probably had no idea how long those words had stuck with her. *And now that I've made my decision,* she thought bitterly, *it's too late.*  
  
A muffled sound stopped her short, causing her to glance down in alarm. Vader stirred, moving his hand feebly up to the side of his helmet, black- gloved fingers grasping uselessly at the edges.  
  
He was still alive. His voice, no longer amplified, was garbled and indistinct. Mara shook her head, leaning closer.  
  
"I—I don't understand."  
  
The dark lord's jerky movements became more frantic, struggling to remove his helmet.  
  
Mara frowned. "You want me to take your helmet off?" she asked. Was he crazy? If she did that he would die. On the other hand, his armor obviously wasn't doing him any good. Time was short.  
  
So, hesitantly, Mara reached forward, groping for the seals, carefully removing Vader's helmet from his head.  
  
What she saw stunned her momentarily. Vader's skin was the pasty white of a face that had not seen sunlight for twenty years. Where hair should have been on his head, there was instead whitish scar tissue. *One of the Galaxy's most feared villains,* she thought to herself. *Reduced to a feeble, incapacitated old man*.  
  
The white mouth stretched into a sad smile. The pale blue eyes—like Luke's, she realized—were full of tears. "Thank you," the old man's voice whispered. His expression was one of peace, free from the noose of servitude that had trailed him for twenty years. Mara swallowed. She felt the same eerie light in her soul—the absence of the oppressive pressure that had become as much a part of her as breathing. "Thank you," he repeated.  
  
He gestured for her to lean closer, breathing laboriously as he tried to summon the strength to speak again. "Tell Luke..." he began, grimacing slightly. "That he was right....he was right about me." The dark lord paused.  
  
Mara leaned in closer, not daring to breathe. "That boy," Vader began, grimacing in pain in the effort to speak. "He was stronger....stronger than I ever was." He squinted up at her again, sad eyes full of tears. "Please tell him."  
  
Mara nodded numbly, feeling her throat close with tears. She did not have the heart to remind the dying father that his son was already dead. Stars, what had this battle finally cost them?  
  
Vader closed his eyes. Mara could see what a supreme effort it was becoming for the old man to draw a breath. "Watch out...for my son," he wheezed finally. "Luke needs you."  
  
Then with a final, slow exhale, Darth Vader died.  
  
**********  
  
Han and Leia had crouched behind a massive stone column, Solo sheltering his wife as well as he could, as the onslaught of energy swept through the throne room.  
  
When the silence finally fell, it was the foreboding quiet of death. Han raised his head, peering out from behind their feeble shelter, to see what had happened. The Emperor was obviously dead. Anybody that could cause a reaction like that when struck with a lightsaber had to be dead. Much of the stone floor was torn up, lying in shattered pieces across the floor. Wafts of cold air made him shiver—the huge windows were shattered, leaving them open to the cold Coruscant sky, hundreds of stories up. Vader was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Leia struggled to her feet, her features white and strained with the pain of the Emperor's lightning attack. "Luke," she whispered, eyes scanning the scene. She started frantically towards the spot where Han had seen his friend go down. The Jedi was still lying there, unmoving. "Luke!" she repeated, voice and movements more frantic as she approached his inert form. Solo knew, stomach twisting into tight knots, that his friend must be dead.  
  
Leia was at his side, shaking him, calling his name. Han knelt at his friend's elbow, seeing the angry red energy burns traverse his arms and face, the blood, the bruises. Cautiously, feeling for a pulse, he held his hand a few inches from Luke's mouth, wondering if it was possible that the Jedi was still breathing.  
  
He found a pulse, faint and erratic. "He's still alive," he whispered, disbelieving. He glanced around at the destruction of the throne room, remembering that they were in the top of the Imperial palace, at the heart of Imperial Center, surrounded by foes. "We have to get him out of here somehow." He shook his head. "We can...find a ship, get him to a base..." He wasn't sure if Luke had very much time left—they would have to hurry.  
  
Klaxons suddenly broke the deathly silence with the blaring of deafening alarms. Solo jerked, wincing against the bright flashing lights as he got his arm underneath Luke's shoulders in preparatory to lifting the unconscious Jedi.  
  
"Or not, now that the whole palace is on alert," Leia grimaced. "Whatever we're doing, let's do it fast."  
  
"Right."  
  
************  
  
Mara barely heard the alarms as she got to her feet, Luke's lightsaber still heavy in her hands. Doubtless, Palpatine had security measures set forth for the contingency of his life being in danger. In less than five minutes, the throne room was likely to be overrun with several squads of stormtroopers. Luke's friends did not have a chance if she didn't help them. Helping them was the very least she could do for Luke.  
  
Solo was hoisting the Jedi, both he and the princess giving her guarded, wary looks as she approached. "Is he...?" she was almost afraid to ask, to know.  
  
The smuggler shook his head. "He's alive. For now." Violent relief flooded through Mara at his words. "But we have to get out of here. Are there any options besides the front door and the window there?"  
  
"Yes," Mara nodded. "There are secret passageways all through the palace. I have access to them. Hurry—follow me."  
  
************************** 


	44. Chapter 44

There is one chapter following this one, just FYI. —T.  
  
********************* He was first aware of a steady beeping noise percolating through his consciousness. The sound dragged him from the fringes of his dreams. He had been drifting, among mist and memories. Familiar voices spoke unintelligible words and drifted around him in a serene blur. But now the steady beep and the cool air brought him to awareness, making him shiver in the cool, dry air. Cracking his eyes against the warm brown light, he became aware of the antiseptic odors of cleaners and the unmistakable smell of bacta.  
  
He had fully expected to be dead. It had been his last conscious thought when the darkness had taken him, lying in pain on the cold, unforgiving stone floor. His mind had accepted it ahead of time, with an admitted measure of relief too. Palpatine would finally let him go.  
  
Luke opened his eyes, blinking. He was lying on a repulsor bed in a small room. The walls and sheets were a stark, sterile-looking white. There were two machines standing unobtrusively near his bed, one of them the source of the beeping that woke him. An IV stand was there, dripping a clear fluid into his arm. He was obviously in a med-center. It looked as though the Emperor wouldn't let him die after all. His heart sinking, Luke wondered why.  
  
He recalled his conversation with Mara, that dreary blur of pain and exhaustion—he, reeling with shock and despair, she, pleading with him to think clearly, to rest, and to not make any foolish decisions.  
  
He snapped his eyes open again, his heart quickening again, this time with the horrible thought of what might have happened to Mara after he'd blacked out on the throne room floor. His father had been kneeling over him, Palpatine had been leering purple-white lightning. *You care for her,* the ruler had taunted, gleeful at finding another of Luke's weaknesses to exploit. *You care for her. *  
  
Heart and mind racing, Luke stared up at the ceiling, as a thousand unbidden images came to his mind. He could not let himself be the cause of his friends' deaths. Mara, Han and Leia...  
  
Luke's stomach twisted again in another knot of fear as he thought of his sister. She was a prisoner of Palpatine as well. The ruler knew they were siblings—surely knew she possessed the same potential as Luke. But brave and strong-willed though she might be, she was untrained, virtually defenseless against any kind of attack Palpatine might orchestrate. And Han had said she was pregnant...  
  
Resisting the urge to pull the IV out, Luke tried to sit up a little. He had no strength for that, he realized a moment later, sinking back down to the bed.  
  
Turning his head to see the other side of the room where the door was, wondering if it was guarded, Luke saw a hunched form sitting slouched in a chair, scooted close to the other side of his bed, obviously sleeping. He blinked and realized the person was Han.  
  
His pulse quickened, a thousand more scenarios running through his head. What was Han doing here? "Han," he whispered hoarsely. His voice was dry with disuse. His throat ached.  
  
With effort, his fingers found the edges of the breath mask covering his nose and mouth and released the catches, pulling the mask away. "Han, wake up." He raised his head, stretching his arm out to touch his friend on the shoulder. "Han."  
  
Solo suddenly jerked awake with a start, sleep-bleary eyes regarding Luke at first with alarm and then with dawning recognition. He looked only relieved, rather than fiercely angry and frustrated as he had been when Luke had last seen him. "Luke, you're awake!"  
  
The Jedi sagged back again to the pillows, trying to summon a smile over his confusion. "Hi."  
  
"How're you feeling, kid?" Solo got to his feet, looking as if he was fretting. "You feeling okay?" He didn't look like a prisoner—his blaster was in its holster. So unless they'd emptied the power packs....  
  
"Fine," Luke answered tersely. He didn't hurt anywhere. "What happened? How—how long have I been out?" He tried to raise his head from the pillows again. "Is Leia okay? Where is she?"  
  
"Hold up, kid," Han told him, urging him back down. "Take it easy. You've been out of it for a while."  
  
Luke grimaced, thinking of what could have happened the hours that he had been unconscious. "How long?"  
  
"Three weeks yesterday," Solo answered. "It was touch and go for a little while—the medics weren't sure you were going to come out the coma."  
  
Luke sagged back, frowning, feeling thoroughly bewildered and a little dizzy. "Three WEEKS?" he repeated. The room began to spin a slow circle around him, with a concerned Han splitting into two. "But how...?"  
  
"It's a long story," Han assured him quickly. "But everything's okay now. Not to worry."  
  
"But the Emperor..." Luke began.  
  
Is dead," Solo finished for him. "We're at the Alliance base." His mouth twitched. "We're safe."  
  
"The Alliance...?" Luke looked around again in confusion, his mind registering belatedly the out-dated equipment of the room that could only be valued by Rebels, always desperate for money and supplies. It was strange then that he should be allowed his own room. "We got away?"  
  
"Whoa, kid," Han waved him back down. "One question at a time." The smuggler sat back in his chair again. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Get you too worked up and Too-onebee will kick me out."  
  
"I'm fine," Luke repeated, shutting his eyes to make the room stop spinning. There were really free...  
  
Solo didn't exactly look convinced. "I could call a medic—you look kind of green."  
  
Luke shook his head again, looking around the hospital room with a new, more appreciative gaze, hardly believing what he was hearing. "I'm not hallucinating, Han," he whispered. "Tell me I'm not seeing things."  
  
Solo glanced around, frowning. "ARE you seeing things?" he asked in mild alarm.  
  
Luke only shut his eyes. "You're sure the Emperor's dead?" he asked.  
  
"Trust me, junior," Solo drawled, smiling. "Anybody that can make a crater like that has to be dead."  
  
"Who killed him?" Luke asked. "How did it happen?"  
  
"It's a long story, kid. It'll take a little time to tell. I think you need some time to recuperate before you hear it all. Take it one question at a time." Solo eyed his friend. The Jedi looked pale and tired, but the sudden relief had seemed to ease the tautness of his features. "Your friend Mara helped us escape."  
  
"Mara?" Luke's eyes were suddenly wide. "She's here? Is she okay?" The Jedi had struggled uselessly again to raise his head and shoulders from the bed, to a half-sitting position. Han sprang forward to help him.  
  
"Take it easy, kid," he reprimanded. "Don't hurt yourself. Mara's doing fine too. She's here." He could see the shock of too much information register on his friend's features as the Jedi sagged back into the pillows. "Okay, overload," he murmured. "You can hear about all this later." Luke nodded.  
  
Solo reached for his comlink. "I'll call Leia and let her know that you're awake." He eyed the discarded breath mask by Luke's side, the kid's gray features and the bluish tinge around the Jedi's mouth. "Put that thing back on, kid."  
  
He thumbed his comlink. "Leia? Oh, hi Goldenrod." He scowled. "Get Leia for me." He looked at Luke again. The Jedi was lying still against the pillows, most of his energy spent. "How good of friends are you and Mara, anyway?" Solo asked. "I mean—cuz you're going to have to beat Lando off with a stick. He's been hitting on Mara since she arrived. Leia?" He asked. "Hey sweetheart, get down here. Your brother's awake."  
  
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	45. Chapter 45

Well folks, this is the final chapter of Goodbye. I started writing this story three years ago, almost to the day, because I had a new notebook and a lot of blank paper begging to be filled up. I was 17 and was supposed to be studying for AP tests. Now, 237 pages later, I'm 20 and trying to finish the semester early so I can leave next week for Europe to spend my next couple months in Germany. But I had to finish this story—not just for me, but for my faithful readers who are waiting. And somehow, despite the insanely busy Darth real-life, it got finished. I'd like to thank and acknowledge The Partner, by John Grisham, The Alliance, by Gerald Lund, Shane (an old cowboy movie I was basically forced to watch, but then gave me tons of ideas), Timothy Zahn for making Mara Jade, and my many readers who took the time to comment and review—thanks a million. You're the reason this story got finished. Enjoy.  
  
Tarado  
  
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They were walking down the half-lit center corridor—the hospital wing's equivalent to night in space. It was a narrow, seldom-used hallway with man-high windows lining one wall, shedding the chalky starlight of empty space onto the dulled transparisteel floor. There were no sounds but their unhurried footfalls.  
  
Mara was walking next to Luke, her hair plaited in a loose, quick braid that was draped over one shoulder. She wore a light-blue ship's tunic that did startling things to the color of her eyes. The loose hair around her face softened her features and made her cheeks look rosier.  
  
Luke was dressed in olive green hospital garb that made his features look grayer than they really were. He was walking with the support of a cane, shuffling stubbornly down the corridor despite the lengthy protestations of a 2-1b droid only an hour before.  
  
They made an interesting pair. He, serious and withdrawn, with little hint in his pale blue eyes of a bright-eyed adolescence that was not so far behind him; she, her features chiseled, emotions hidden by a careful, impenetrable mask—she was both beautiful and deadly, as she had been trained to be since she could walk. Fate had had placed them together as no mere coincidence could. They were both unconsciously more relaxed in each others' presence than in the presence of any others that they knew—Luke's friends and family, and Mara's newly acquired acquaintances—and it seemed strange really, given the circumstances of their meeting, only months before.  
  
It had been seven months since the battle of Endor, but it seemed to Luke like it had been years. Long ones. He was back with the Alliance now, only to feel as if he were thirty years older than the pilots and Rebels he'd once flown with, the friends he'd once shared meals and hard times with, mourning tasteless rations bars and long hours in the sims. He used to long to be older, more seasoned, experienced and less of an awkward, unsophisticated farmboy. If he'd known then the trial of fire that was required of him to achieve such an aspiration—the experience, the painful knowledge that had carried him to be wiser and old beyond his years—he would not have wished it upon anyone.  
  
Mara glanced sidelong at Luke, almost reluctant to break their comfortable silence. "We should get you back to bed," she murmured. "Before the too one-bees track you down and haul you back."  
  
Luke smiled and shook his head wistfully, trying not to lean too heavily on his cane as he shuffled forward. "Not yet. I'm fine—I feel like walking. I need to catch up on the life I have missed for the past seven months."  
  
"You can catch up on things lying down," Mara pointed out.  
  
"I usually end up falling asleep. Right now I feel like walking," he repeated obstinately, staring straight ahead.  
  
Mara rolled her eyes. "Sure, you feel like walking. Right up until the point that you faint cold to the floor and I have to drag you back by your feet."  
  
"It's what I pay you for, Jade," Luke smiled. It was a real smile—one that included his eyes. Mara could not recall ever seeing that smile before today—and this was the second time that evening.  
  
"I don't think I like this job," she scowled.  
  
Luke flashed a grin. His hair, darker than it used to be, was combed neatly, and his colorless features looked less strained than they had in months. "Your other option is to sit by my bedside while I sleep—and please tell me that watching me nap is not that interesting."  
  
Mara made a face, moving her hand toward his elbow to offer her support if needed. "It isn't. But let's face it: there is precious little to do at this little base of yours."  
  
"Glad I rate as a number one attraction," Luke said dryly, coming to a halt and catching his breath. For having walked barely thirty feet, he was surprisingly tired. "You have to have a good reason to join the Rebellion."  
  
"Don't flatter yourself, Skywalker," Mara growled, about to elbow him in the ribs, and then thinking better of it. "There are other reasons for joining the Alliance besides the fact that I have the privilege of wandering with you down a corridor to make sure you don't trip and fall."  
  
He looked innocent, fighting another smile, despite the perspiration standing out on his brow. "Oh, is that why you're here? Not because of my good company?"  
  
"Luke really," Mara began again, half-trying for seriousness this time, and ignoring his only half-rhetorical question. "If I don't get you back to bed, they might arrest me for being an accomplice in your escape from the med-center. The Alliance still doesn't really trust me."  
  
Luke laughed and started walking again. "To the end of the corridor, and then I promise we'll go back."  
  
"I'll get in trouble, Skywalker," Mara repeated behind him.  
  
"If you do, I'll vouch for you," Luke told her.  
  
"Do you think they'll listen to you?" Mara retorted.  
  
Luke turned to face her sagely. "I'm a Jedi—that carries a lot of clout around here."  
  
She arched her eyebrows. Skywalker looked worn and tired despite his declarations of feeling otherwise. He had lost a noticeable amount of weight over the past several months. "Not if he's passed out cold on the floor."  
  
Luke smiled faintly, turning to face the viewport and shifting to rest his elbows against the handrail. "Mara Jade, you worry too much. I've already gotten it from Leia and Han—not to mention Wedge's little comment about how I might disappear if I turn sideways, so don't you—"  
  
"Luke, how many times have I told you to stay out of my mind?" Mara interrupted, coming to stand next to him, giving him an only half-joking glare.  
  
He glanced over at her, a faintly guilty expression on his face. "Well, you were thinking it, weren't you?"  
  
She didn't answer. It had been startling to her that over the past months—and particularly the past week since Luke had started to recover—how their bond through the Force had grown. It was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before and she didn't know quite how she was supposed to react. It was unnerving to hear Luke's thoughts in her mind like they had been spoken words; more unnerving still to realize her thoughts were being conveyed to him in the exact same manner.  
  
Luke looked back to the viewport, perhaps following her train of thought, but deciding not to comment on it. He could argue that it was no different from Emperor knowing her every thought and whim. It was true—she shouldn't be so startled at this invasion of privacy. This felt different though.  
  
"It really is beautiful out there, isn't it?"  
  
Mara followed his gaze. Asteroids drifted serenely—large, dead hunks of rock floating in space. Distantly, particles of light from a cluster of stars glowed like the dying embers of a fire. How long had it been since she had just looked at something and saw it for what it really was? She nodded, looking back at Luke, feeling strangely peaceful in her heart. "It's beautiful."  
  
"I..." Luke began, still watching the view, feeling a wave of somberness wash over him. "It feels as if I've been trapped in a tunnel for so long with nothing but my own horrible future facing me down. And now I feel so..." he trailed off, with a faint shrug.  
  
"Free," Mara finished for him, half-turning to look at him, knowing it was perfectly true. "What you fought for all this time. You finally feel free."  
  
"Yes," Luke nodded.  
  
Mara cut her eyes back to the darkness of space. "There was this dark feeling weighing me down that I never even noticed until it was gone..." she hesitated, glancing at him again. "...when the Emperor died."  
  
She was thinking of their walk through the botanical gardens, of Luke's question that had made her so angry at the time. "I never realized what I was missing."  
  
She met his gaze. His eyes were wistful; peaceful, but sad at the same time. His hand, still holding the rail, moved to cover hers. "I'm glad you found it," he said quietly.  
  
Mara looked into his eyes before he tore his gaze away. "I never thanked you for helping me find it," she said.  
  
"And I never thanked you for helping me," he returned. "What you did for me...for Han and Leia." He glanced away again. "You saved all of our lives."  
  
Mara shook her head. "I wouldn't have had the conscience to do it without you," she reminded him.  
  
Luke's smile faded. "You wouldn't have needed to do it without me," he corrected, suddenly self-reproachful. His gaze went distant, pained. "My delusions of heroism have hurt a lot of people."  
  
"Don't blame yourself," Mara said quietly. "I don't believe it was heroism that compelled you to try to turn your father back to the good side."  
  
He shook his head. "Then it was naivety and stupidity." He looked over at her again, his hand tightening over hers. "What was I thinking?"  
  
Mara bit her lip, seeing regret shining in Luke's eyes. "That you could save him."  
  
"Was it worth the price paid?" he whispered, staring blankly at the handrail.  
  
Mara spread her hands. "He killed the Emperor to save you. He wanted to save you because he realized he loved you." She peered at him. "You can't truly love someone else if you're an agent of the Dark Side." She touched his hand, tightly clenching the rail. It was cold. "You brought him back."  
  
Luke took a deep breath, still staring at nothing. "Leia had a miscarriage. Did she tell you that?"  
  
Mara opened her mouth and closed it again. "I didn't know she was pregnant," she murmured.  
  
"It was a girl."  
  
Mara was silent.  
  
"She wouldn't tell me the cause, but I'm not stupid." He took another deep breath. "The Emperor's Force-lightning isn't something to be toyed with." He clenched his right hand into a fist. "The bottom line is, if it hadn't been for me, Leia's baby would be fine, my sister could be happy instead of grief-stricken at the prospect of being a mother, a little boy named Benjamin Kelson would be living a normal, happy, carefree childhood; his aunt and uncle...." He trailed off helplessly.  
  
Mara sighed, facing him. "Luke, everyone makes mistakes...has private sorrows and regrets. But if it hadn't been for you, Palpatine would probably still be alive, Vader would be wreaking havoc on worlds, and who- knows-how-many thousands of people would be suffering and dying under tyranny every day." She gave him a serious look. "As a Jedi, you had a duty to do something the best way you knew how. And you did it."  
  
"There is no emotion, there is peace," Luke quoted mechanically, his eyes sorrowful. "My mind knows it—sees all the logic...but that doesn't keep my heart from aching."  
  
Mara tried to smile for him. "The Force is meant to bring balance, not comfort."  
  
He smiled wanly in return. "So I'm beginning to learn," he whispered. "But it's a question that will haunt me."  
  
She raised her eyebrows. "Well, while you're busy being haunted by questions, stew over this one: If you hadn't so rudely invaded my life like you did, what would have happened to me? Where would I be now?  
  
She let the question hang in the air. Luke raised his head and took her hand again, his features tightening. His fingers were cold. "I don't know," he whispered, grimacing. "I'd rather not think about it."  
  
"Me either," Mara shook her head.  
  
Luke turned his gaze back to the viewport to watch the drifting asteroids again. "Your friendship has kept me alive these past months," he said quietly. "Even though it was rocky at times. Your presence nearby kept me going. I don't think I even realized it until much later."  
  
"I hated you," Mara whispered, shocked in spite of herself at the truth. The words just seemed to spill out of her mouth without permission. She didn't want to hurt him with her words. Not now. "I just wanted you to be dead—gone and out of my life for good."  
  
She sensed him wince, though his expression gave no indication. "I know."  
  
"But things change—people change. I mean..." she faltered, floundering for the right words. "I know I've changed."  
  
He turned fully to face her, his eyes probing hers, sky-blue and tired. Mara was suddenly aware of how close she was standing to him, of his breath on her cheek. His hand tightened on hers. "We've both changed, Mara."  
  
She arched her eyebrows. "And that's okay," she whispered, for he was suddenly in very close proximity to her, his face now inches from hers. "We can be different people and move on with a future that is not affected by the past."  
  
He nodded, cobalt blue eyes swimming with emotion she couldn't really decipher. "Yes. We can." He could have elaborated—a murmur of promise or some sort of favorable rejoinder. But some things are better left simply unsaid. Instead of speaking, Luke leaned forward and kissed her.  
  
Mara Jade, the former Emperor's Hand and Imperial assassin might have decked someone in her surprise. Startled though she was, she melted into Luke Skywalker's arms and returned the kiss. Her hands flew to his shoulders. He dipped her down, the cane he'd been using to walk, forgotten, the pains of the past and the present momentarily swept away for both of them.  
  
Silhouetted by the silver starlight, the couple lingered in the kiss for a long minute, communicating and understanding through the Force.  
  
When they finally parted, Mara back-stepped, feeling her face warm. The color had returned to Luke's features as well. The grief and pain had gone from his eyes to reveal gentle understanding, the beginnings of peace. Mara vowed in her heart to help him find it again. She would be there for him for as long as he needed her.  
  
Luke flashed a sheepish grin. "That's likely going to be a long time, Jade."  
  
Mara smiled and took his arm in hers, not minding this time that he had just replied to her unspoken thought. "Well, I should hope so." She steered him back the way that they had come. "Let's go, Skywalker—you've done enough for one evening. We should get you back to bed."  
  
He nodded in not-so-reluctant compliance. "I guess the end of the corridor can wait until tomorrow."  
  
They walked back, arm in arm. In the distance, far from the dark, quiet corridor built deep into a hidden asteroid, nestled somewhere in an remote corner of the universe, unknowing and uncaring, the cold, distant stars, and the far-flung planets smiled benevolently down at them.  
  
THE END  
  
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